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SHAWNIE WADE 


BY 

SARAH J. PRICHARD 

J n 



BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 


I9O9 




a 7 ' o- 


Copyright 1909 by Richard G. Badger. 


All Rights Reserved 


The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 


PREFACE 


The story of “Shawnie Wade” has all the 
fire, vividness, and thrilling intensity which 
characterized the romances of a past genera- 
tion. Thirty years ago the author was a fre- 
quent contributor to the leading magazines 
of the day, and a well known writer of books 
for children. A history of her native town — ■ 
Waterbury, Connecticut — from 1673-1783, a 
work evincing careful research and rare nar- 
rative ability, was also from her pen. 

Challenged to write a sensational story, 
Miss Prichard essayed the task or the sport. 
“Shawnie Wade” was the result. The man- 
uscript was submitted to Dr. J. G. Holland, 
then editor of the “Century,” who was so in- 
terested in the tale that he wrote to Miss 
Prichard: “I read it aloud, every word of it, 
before I went to bed.” It is needless to add 
that the manuscript was accepted and paid 
for. Time went on, and the story not appear- 
ing, an inquiry led to the statement by the ed- 
itors that, considering the irritated feeling 
then existing between the North and South, 
its publication, at that time, did not seem ad- 
visable. 


3 


PREFACE 


At Dr. Holland’s death the manuscript 
was still unpublished. Mr. Gilder, who suc- 
ceeded Dr. Holland as editor of the “Cen- 
tury,” returned the manuscript, unread by 
him, to the author with the explanation that 
while he knew that Dr. Holland thought well 
of the story, yet the magazine was so over- 
whelmed with material, that it seemed best to 
begin the new administration by clearing the 
editorial desk. 

No further attempt was made to dispose of 
the manuscript and it lay forgotten for many 
years. On Miss Prichard’s death, which oc- 
curred in February, 1909, it was the judg- 
ment of her friends that a story so strange in 
plot, so engaging in style, and so compelling 
in interest should be given to the public. 

The reader will peruse the following pages 
with absorbed attention, and as he lays down 
the volume he cannot well refrain from re- 
flecting on the significant changes in the art of 
story telling, both in theme and technique, 
which have taken place within a generation. 

Charles Allen Dinsmore. 

W aterbury, Conn., May, 19OQ. 


4 


CONTENTS 


Chapter One 

A School in New Haven 9 

Chapter Two 

A Hospital Camp 31 

Chapter Three 

Shawnie’s Story 33 

Chapter Four 

Mrs. St. Honor 79 

Chapter Five 

A Prisoner 99 

Chapter Six 

The Search for St. Honor 109 

Chapter Seven 

Who is Shawnie Wade? 127 


5 











A SCHOOL IN NEW HAVEN 



CHAPTER I 


A School in New Haven 

T here came one evening to a 
boarding-school for young ladies, 
in the city of New Haven, a 
gentleman, whose errand was 
announced in the following 

manner. 

The size of the man gave a certain import 
to his words, for he loomed up nearly to the 
ceiling as he entered the reception room of 
Miss Harris, pushing before him a young 
girl who seemed in no wise eager or willing 
to be presented. 

“Madam,” he said, addressing Miss Har- 
ris, “you keep school !” 

“I do, sir.” 

“For money, I suppose?” 

“Quite right, sir.” 

“Well, here is money, a thousand dollars 
of it — and here is the girl ! She is my daugh- 
ter, Shawnie Wade. You may keep her un- 
til the money is gone, or I come again.” 

9 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“Go and shake hands with Miss Harris! 
Tut! tut! She won’t eat you!” 

Shawnie gave a shriek such as never before 
had pierced the ears of her hearers, and struck 
out her hands toward her father — grasping 
him with all her might. 

“I sha’n’t stay! I’ll run away and be lost 
in the cane-brakes!” she said. 

“Well ! you may, Shawnie, but I shall not 
be here to hunt you up, mind ! Good-bye, 
my child — you know I want you to shine 
when you get back home.” 

“Stop, sir! one moment, if you please,” 
quickly spoke Miss Harris, for already the 
man was at the hall entrance. “I would like 
to know what your daughter is to study; 
what she is to be educated for!” 

“I can’t stop,” he said, in a low tone. “I 
will write to you later. Watch her closely a 
while. There’s no telling how she’ll take it.” 

Shawnie was “taking it” by standing, still 
as a statue, on that figure of the carpet where 
her father had left her, when Miss Harris 
re-entered the room. 

“Sit down, my dear, and tell me a little 
io 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


about yourself. How old are you?” ques- 
tioned the lady. 

Miss Harris’s words would have been quite 
as effective, had they been addressed to the 
figure in, instead of that upon, the carpet, for 
neither stirred. 

“Do you hear me, Miss Wade?” asked 
Miss Harris, evidently determined to move 
the girl to speech. 

A something that might have been a smile, 
had it remained long enough for the eye to 
catch the picture, flitted across Shawnie’s face, 
and then it was more rigid than before. 

“Young lady! I never permit my pupils 
to be rude to me, I shall send you to stay by 
yourself until you recover your powers of 
speech.” 

Miss Harris rang a bell, and immediately 
thereafter a servant appeared, to whom it 
was said, “Mary, you will conduct this new 
pupil — her name is Miss Wade — to Number 
17, and see that she has what she requires 
for the night.” 

“Stop, child! Where are you from to- 
day, and have you had any tea?” 

“I sha’n’t drink your tea ! I don't believe it 
11 


SHAWNIE WADE 


is good, and if your windows are not all 
nailed up tight, I will jump out before morn- 
ing, and run off. I give you fair warning!” 
said Shawnie. 

During this time, she had not once lifted 
her eyes from the carpet. Mary had already 
gathered up the traveling accompaniments of 
the new pupil. On hearing Shawnie’s words, 
she quickly laid them down and said : 

“Please, ma’am, I’m afraid of the young 
lady. I was in a place once where they kept 
crazy folks and I alluz said no money should 
tempt me to stay in another, though the 
wages is tempting sometimes.” 

“Knock her down!” cried Shawnie, taking 
a step forward, and dashing out her little fists. 

It was the first time we had seen the girl’s 
eyes. I can find nothing to illustrate them. 
Such peculiar combination in coloring and 
expression I have not elsewhere met. Just at 
the instant they were seen by me, they burned 
with sudden rage, which, Mary beholding, 
ran away from, and we heard her swift foot- 
steps across the hall. 

“Why didn’t you strike her?” asked 
Shawnie. “We don’t let ’em speak so !” ad- 
dressing Miss Harris. 

12 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


“And we don’t speak so, Miss Wade.” 

“Don’t all white folks do just as they 
please?” she asked, with sudden asperity; 
going forward and seating herself on an otto- 
man near Miss Harris. 

“If I were to do as I please, I should send 
you away at once.” 

“Then, why don’t you?” 

“I have good reasons for your remaining. 
You may go to bed now. The nine o’clock 
bell is ringing.” “Harriet, will you oblige 
me by showing Miss Wade to her room, and 
remaining with her until she gets a little used 
to it?” 

I was the “Harriet” referred to, and I 
went. 

Along the hall we encountered the boarders 
on their way to the nine o’clock luncheon — 
which consisted of good bread and salt. 

“I don’t like them,” whispered Shawnie, 
drawing herself away from contact with the 
little crowd, and nearer to me. “Who are 
they, and where are they going?” 

“The school girls,” I replied. “Study- 
hour is just past, and they are on their way 
to get bread and salt. Will you go in with 
me?” 


13 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“No! My bag is full of lunch. You can 
eat it if you please ! I wouldn’t, because I 
wanted to make papa so sorry for me that 
he would take me back with him, and now I 
wouldn’t taste it, not if I starved.” 

“Are you fond of your home?” I ques- 
tioned, as we entered the designated room. 

“No ! It isn’t much, only a big plantation 
down on the Mississippi. I’m always afraid 
down there. The water bursts out too often. 
I reckon it’ll do it oftener than ever, now 
I’m gone.” 

“Then, aren’t you glad to be away at a 
safe place, even though it be a school?” I 
asked. 

“You don’t know much! but maybe you 
will, some day. I feel so sorry for you,” she 
said. Coming up to me, and suddenly cast- 
ing down the articles she had hitherto held, 
she threw her arms around my neck and cried, 
quick, wild tears, with a vehemence that 
frightened me. 

“Don’t Shawnie !” I pleaded — the memory 
of certain homesick hours quick at my heart 
just then, prompting me to kiss the small 


14 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


brown cheek that rested on my shoulder out 
of pure sympathy. 

The girl looked up. Never had I known 
a storm to burst with such vivid clearness. 
Her face gave no sign of the late tempest, but 
glowed and shone as she said : You are sorry 
for me? You make a great mistake. You 
were never more wrong in all your life. Tell 
me now — what would you give to love any- 
body well enough to cry about them like that ? 

“Nothing,” I replied, “because I should 
be very sorry to do it.” 

“Sorry!” she uttered with unapproachable 
scorn. “How I pity you! It is sweet! It is 
delicious ! I can think of but one better thing 
to do!” 

“Well, what is that? It seems a miser- 
able performance to me, but if you like it, 
very well !” 

She turned herself about, the gaslight shin- 
ing down her figure and showing every line 
of her face, while her strange eyes seemed 
to quiver with light, as she was saying the 
words: “I will tell you that better thing. 
It would be to drink a cup of the red wine of 
his life l Then I would die, because after 
15 


SHAWNIE WADE 


that there could be nothing more, or better 
to live for.” 

“What did you come here for?” I asked. 

“Because they cheated me — my own father 
and he! Have you any money?” she asked, 
shutting her small white teeth together with 
a sharp sound, that made a quaking in my 
flesh. 

“Not much. Why?” 

“I am glad of it, because, if you had, I 
might be tempted to ask you for it. Do you 
know,” she added, with quickened accents, 
“my father never left me one cent. Was 
afraid I would get home if he did. I laughed 
at poor papa’s simplicity in buying me dozens 
of new things in New York. More than I 
can possibly use up in three years. He never 
thought that I could sell them, but I will!” 

“I must go now,” I said. “I don’t think 
you will get on very well here, unless you stop 
thinking about such things and try to be 
happy. Good night!” 

“See here!” she exclaimed, “don’t you 
want to know his name before you go? You 
had better hear it now, because it is the only 
time I am going to talk about him. He is 
16 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


my cousin, not very near though, and his 
name is Honor St. Honor.” 

■“It is he” — you love so, I was about to ask, 
but amended by substituting “You cry so 
for?” 

“I don’t cry for Honor St. Honor! No, 
indeed ! I cry for my own love of him. He 
isn’t so splendid as some others. I don’t 
more than half believe he is worth it, but if I 
choose to spend my love that way, I will!” 

“How old are you, Shawnie Wade?” 

“Fourteen, last Christmas day.” 

Such was the introduction of the new pupil 
into the school of Miss Harris, fifteen years 
ago. 

The next morning I expected a report to 
the effect, “Miss Wad:' is missing,” but, no, 
she was present at prayers and breakfast, al- 
though I found it extremely difficult to believe 
that the young girl then apparent, was she 
who had, the previous night, so astonished 
me. 

Although I was assigned to occupy the 
same room, and did for nine months of that 
school year, she never once made allusion to 
the night of her arrival, nor to the subjects 
on which she had then spoken. 

17 


3 


SHAWNIE WADE 


If the size, name and dress had not cor- 
responded with, had not held resemblance to, 
the surprising little figure Mr. Wade had 
pushed forward on his arrival, I should have 
believed, what I did not, by sheer force of 
circumstance, viz., that my room-mate was 
not the same girl, such change had come to 
her! 

Miss Harris summoned me to her presence 
on the evening of the first day after the new 
pupil came, and asked me how I fared with 
the fiery Southerner. 

“The trouble is, Miss Harris,” I said, 
“that the fire has gone out completely. I am 
afraid Mary was right, apd that we have 
an insane girl in school. I wish you would 
permit me to room by myself.” 

Miss Harris complimented me that night, 
as she never had done. She flattered my 
vanity to a degree that made me willing to 
take the risk of rooming with a crazy girl. 

Once or twice I rallied Shawnie on the 
subject of her entrance into school, but I ob- 
served that a blue pallor was the only token 
of excitement she evinced, and she waived the 
subject with a kind of barbaric dignity that 
18 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


utterly forbade any nearer approach to 
familiarity on my part. 

No pupil was so diligent as Shawnie Wade. 
Her whole life seem concentrated in the one 
desire to gain knowledge. During the first 
two months of her school life I doubt if she 
once addressed a person voluntarily, and al- 
though she received letters with great regu- 
larity from her father, no one ever saw her 
write one in return. She had no acquaint- 
ances in the city, and avoided making any, 
shunning the day-scholars, and holding no 
more intercourse with human beings than 
was essential to living in the same house. 

She passed hours over her writing-books, 
copying, with slow patience, long pages of 
her lessons, and I often observed her tran- 
scribing what appeared to me to be old let- 
ters. 

Time passed on, and the mid-winter holi- 
days came. Shawnie grew restless then. She 
went often to the church — St. Paul’s — and 
her chief enjoyment seemed to consist in glid- 
ing in when the organist was practising. She 
would crouch in one of the pews in the dark- 
ness and stay there motionless until the signs 
19 


SHAWNIE WADE 


of leaving the church came. Then she would 
steal out as softly as she had entered. 

Miss Harris permitted her great liberty, 
for her father had requested that she might 
have as much as was consistent with her safe- 
ty, but, on occasions when she wandered 
about, Miss Harris sent some one to watch 
her movements. 

No one marveled at the ignorance of 
Shawnie Wade, at her “backwardness” in the 
common branches of education, because she 
was from the South, but every one was utter- 
ly amazed at the exceeding progress she made 
in her studies. Music she actually revelled 
in; it was the one luxury she permitted her- 
self to indulge in to excess. 

The time came, in the summer following 
her admission to the school, when Mr. Wade 
was expected to arrive. 

Miss Harris received the earliest intima- 
tion of his visit by letter, coupled with the re- 
quest that Shawnie might be kept in ignor- 
ance of his coming. The lady imparted the 
secret to me. 

One night, when Shawnie seemed unusually 
quiet, and even the music of a serenade did 
20 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


not move her, for we had been aroused from 
our sleep by it, I asked, “Shawnie, are you 
home-sick?” 

“Home-sick!” she uttered, “I cannot tell 
what you mean!” 

“Well, would you like to see your father, 
then?” She began to cry, not quick, im- 
petuous tears, like those I had once seen her 
shed; but slow, solemn grieving seemed to 
possess her, and not anything that I could 
say lessened the weeping, so at last, touched 
to the heart by her sorrow, I turned traitor 
to my trust, and said, “You need not cry so, 
Shawnie, for he is coming.” 

She sprang up from the carpet, on which 
she had been sitting to listen to the music, and 
seized me by the shoulders — “Harriet Lord, 
who told you so?” she questioned, her eyes 
showing their vivid light, under the moon 
that was at its full. 

“Miss Harris,” I replied. “She has had 
a letter from him, but, Shawnie, if you be- 
tray me ! — for I was not to tell. It was to be 
kept a secret from you until he came!” 

“Harriet, I thank you. No one shall know 
that you told me. I am so glad, for surprises 
21 


SHAWNIE WADE 


make me feel wicked. I don’t like them. 
When is he to come?” 

I told her, and time stole on until the day 
came around, when Miss Harris prepared to 
receive Col. Wade. 

I shall never forget that evening. The 
summer-tide was at the full, and Shawnie 
was quivering with excitement as I laced the 
dress she wore. The girl could not stand up, 
and I was obliged to complete the dressing 
of her hair, in fact, to make her ready. 

When the street-bell rang, at the hour 
when Mr. Wade was expected to arrive, 
Shawnie gave a stifled shriek, like one in mor- 
tal terror. Her eyes were wild, with what 
seemed to me to be an emotion of fear. I 
sought to soothe her, but in vain. The flow- 
ers I had fastened in her hair she chanced to 
see when passing the mirror. “Take them 
out!” she cried, “I can’t let him see me wear 
flowers !” 

“Miss Wade, Miss Harris wishes to see you 
in the drawing room,” said a servant at the 
door. 

I had not thought Shawnie deceitful, but, 
on that occasion, she suddenly suppressed all 
22 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


the emotion that she had so freely evinced be- 
fore me, and asked : 

“What does Miss Harris wish? Ask her 
to excuse me.” 

“I can’t,” said the girl, “there is company 
in the parlor, and I was told you must go 
right down.” 

“Very well!” she said, and then Shawnie 
Wade stood erect, and looked full into the 
mirror. 

“Give me the flowers!” she said to me, 
reaching forth her hand for them, with im- 
perial gesture. The flowers were blossoms 
from the woodland, that Shawnie had gather- 
ed in one of her recent outbreaks into wander- 
ing, vivid in coloring, and I thought she had 
looked extremely well in them. 

She took the long sprays of skyey blue, 
and trailed them across her hair; then, half 
scornfully, fastened them in place, and turn- 
ing to me said — it was the only reference to 
the night of her arrival that she ever made : 
“You were in the reception room when Shaw- 
nie Wade first made her entrance! Come with 
me now’, and afterward tell me if I do credit 
to my opportunities since that time !” 

23 


SHAWNIE WADE 


Drawn on, half by the spell in her voice, 
half by my own inherent curiosity, I followed 
her down the broad stairway, and to the en- 
trance-door. It stood ajar. I heard the 
sound of Mr. Wade’s voice once more. It 
seemed brighter, breezier than when he left 
Shawnie. He was saying, “You, Miss Har- 
ris, can have slight conception of what it has 
been to me to live so long without my little 
Tornado; but I suppose in the northern cli- 
mate she has changed to a very proper and 
well-ordered storm. Climate does such won- 
ders with certain natures.” 

Shawnie only paused to let him finish the 
sentence. Then she pushed open the door 
and walked into the room. 

“Miss Wade, I thought to give you a 
pleasant surprise,” said Miss Harris. 

Mr. Wade sprang to his feet, hastened 
forward, and clasped Shawnie in his arms. 

He kissed her forhead, not once or twice, 
but a dozen times, with southern impetuosity, 
completely crushing the flowers in her hair 
with his caresses. 

“My darling!” he said. “I have counted 
the days to the time when I could claim you 
24 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


again! Have you no kiss for me, as a re- 
ward for all my waiting?” 

Shawnie kissed him, quivering while she 
did it with strange agitation for a daughter. 
It was such contrast to the night when I had 
seen her cling to him as if all the world would 
be powerless to part her from him. 

At this moment Miss Harris withdrew, 
doubtless thinking that her presence over- 
awed the girl. Mr. Wade stayed his brief 
while and left, only to return a few days later, 
and invite me to accompany his daughter on 
a trip to the northward. 

My happy star had not had the happiness 
in it to grant me familiarity with trips of 
travel, and that one I accepted and enjoyed 
to the full. It had been great pleasure to me 
to watch Shawnie Wade in the retirement of 
our school life, but on the highways of na- 
ture, I fear I forgot Shawnie and duty, for, 
upon my return, when questioned by Miss 
Harris concerning her behavior, I found that 
I was utterly unable to give any account of it. 

Miss Harris evidently felt the keenest in- 
terest in everything that affected her south- 
ern pupil. I often watched her when she was 
25 


SHAWNIE WADE 


utterly absorbed in watching Shawnie, and, 
more than once, I suspected that she followed 
her to and fro in her wanderings, for, soon 
after Shawnie’s departure from the house, 
Miss Harris’s followed — and, in their return, 
there was a similar concurrence of the event. 

I left school at the close of that year. 
Shawnie Wade remained two years after my 
departure, and there came from time to time, 
into the quiet seclusion of my inland home, 
where I was doing my utmost by teaching a 
village school to return to my parents the 
store they had deprived themselves of for my 
education, reports of the brilliant career of 
Miss Wade. She was then a parlor-boarder 
in Miss Harris’s school. 

The years passed. One letter I received 
from Shawnie. It was written the night be- 
fore she left school for the last time. She 
wrote, that “in looking over the events of 
her life” — I noticed that she seemed to give 
it date from the time she went to New Haven 
—“she found that she was deeply indebted 
to me. I had done much, more than I could 
possibly appreciate just then, to reconcile her 
to life, and to set her in the right path.” 

2 6 


A NEW HAVEN SCHOOL 


She thanked me for it, with a tone of 
humility running through her words, such as 
I had never had glimpse of in school-days. 
She told me that she was going to the planta- 
tion on the Mississippi; that in all the years 
to come I might never hear again of her, but 
that she could never forget me. 

I wrote in reply, but my letter elicited no 
response. 


27 




















A HOSPITAL CAMP 


CHAPTER II 
A Hospital Camp 

T HE years came and went. My 
early youth was gone ; my educa- 
tion paid for ; and I was a school 
teacher still, when on the hori- 
zon of the Republic, gleamed the 
crimson streak of War. 

One year later, I was doing my part of the 
strife in a hospital. It was in the West, and 
at our then most southern station in the South- 
west. 

We were near to a camp. Into the camp 
refugees were pouring by scores. At times, 
victims of illness, misfortune or starvation 
were sent to the hospital, where the means 
for their restoration were at hand. 

I had not outgrown my native curiosity, 
and every new accession of numbers afforded 
fresh supply for my observation to feed upon. 
I liked to watch the men; to note the effect of 
trouble and sorrow on diverse bits of human 
nature, and then work my conclusion, in my 
imagination, into strange mosaics, with which, 
3i 


SHAWNIE WADE 


I sometimes fancied I could, in the future, in- 
terest the world, or such portion of it as 
should behold my work. To this end, when 
not detailed for special duty, I searched out 
opportunities for going down to the camp to 
watch the slave groups, the white faces, and 
whatsoever might turn into sight, in that mili- 
tary kaleidescope. 

My mosaics never came of the habit into 
anything more tangible than imaginings, but 
something else did, and it came in this man- 
ner. 

Two days earlier than the time of which 
I write, a battle had been fought. Rumors 
came flying into camp and hospital of the 
great number of wounded men who were on 
their way to us. Every resource of the place 
was put into working order. Then we waited. 

I had not seen much service among maim- 
ed and wounded soldiers, and a tremor came 
over me, as the time grew long, and I had 
hours in which to i picture the coming scenes. 

As a Anal escape from my own fancies, I 
walked across to the camp. It was upon a 
still, sunshiny afternoon, in one of the days 
when it seemed as though the earth had noth- 
32 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


ing to do but to stand still and let the sun 
and air pour over it. 

On my way to the camp, I paused to watch 
a group. New-come freedom was evidently 
not a pleasure to the poor, bewildered beings, 
who were clustered about a bit of farm-fence, 
that had been miraculously spared from the 
deluge of demolition around. The slaves 
knew not what to do with freedom — it mysti- 
fied them. 

The two 1 figures of the party that most at- 
tracted me were an old man who sat leaning 
upon a stick, with his dim eyes buried in the 
depth of air beyond, while his poor face 
worked convulsively, as if trying to make it- 
self understood without vocal sign; and an- 
other — whether woman or child baffled my 
perception. It crouched close to the ground, 
hiding its face in the breadth of a scanty 
apron. The hand that held the apron was 
small, brown and well-made, and by the mus- 
cular grasp of it, I knew that its owner was 
strong to will and to do. 

I was about to speak over the little figure, 
when a hand was uplifted by a woman in the 
group, whose name I later learned was Su- 


s 


33 


SHAWNIE WADE 


sanna, and a voice said “There isn’t a spec o’ 
use. She won’t say nothing.” 

At that instant came a message announcing 
the near approach of the soldiers, and forget- 
ting the old man and the girl — if girl it was — 
from that moment my whole being was given 
to the duties of the hospital. 

I felt that mysterious buoyancy that some- 
times comes to the soul from the great depth 
of the misery into which it has been plunged, 
and on which it floats, scarcely conscious 
whether the greater clinging is to the stars 
above, or the earth beneath. 

Late that night I was bearing a pitcher of 
water through a long and ill-lighted passage, 
having at one end the hospital wards; at the 
other, the place we, out of courtesy, called 
the kitchen. Between these termini, on either 
side, were doors opening into store-rooms, 
and other apartments, that were seldom put 
to use. 

Imperative need gave quickness to my 
footsteps on this occasion, and I did not 
pause, not even when I heard, or thought 
that I heard, a voice calling to me. I went 
on to my errand, but the instant it was done, 


34 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


I returned to the long passage, and walked 
slowly down its length, bearing a candle in 
my hand. 

Some of the doors had been opened, and, 
in the haste that pervaded everything, had 
been left so. 

I was startled by a voice coming from one 
of the rooms. It said, “Lady! will you kindly 
stop one minute?” I went into the apartment 
and found, lying upon the floor, a soldier. 
He wore the “Grey.” 

“I have been forgotten here,” he said, 
“but I do not think it was meant to be so.” 

“I will go and call a surgeon,” I said, and 
was at the door, when I was arrested by the 
words, “Stay, if you please. Only give me a 
little water and a moment’s help to move my 
head!” 

Water was at hand. I gave it, asking, 
“What is your hurt?” 

He answered “Hand and foot. You will 
see that I am quite helpless.” I held the 
candle down to the bare boards of the floor 
on which he lay, and saw two pools of blood 
that had oozed from wounds in his left ankle 
and right hand. 


35 


SHAWNIE WADE 


Immediately I was at the door on the way 
for a surgeon, but the man recalled me with 
such earnest entreaty, that I returned to listen. 

“Wait, lady!” he said, speaking in that 
low, wonderful tone, to which some natures 
are compelled to give heed. “Only hear 
what I have to say, and perhaps some maiden 
of the South will do for your soldiers what I 
ask of you. I want to lie here to-night for- 
gotten. Your surgeons would no doubt find 
cause for taking off my foot or hand. It is 
done too often without doubt, on both sides. 
I beg to save mine. If I am left to battle 
with these hurts, I have both the strength 
and the will to outlive them. Pray let me !” 

I cannot tell what the power was that the 
Confederate exerted over me to win me to 
his side. I only know that I assented to his 
wish, as related to< my own action; that I 
concealed him in army blankets as well as I 
could; that I smuggled in to him food, pre- 
pared with my own hands, and an hour later, 
stole in to see how he fared. His simple 
“Nicely, thank you,” went home to my heart. 
I had no motive in the deed. I did it simply 


36 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


because the man’s will did not call up my own 
to opposition. 

I dared not stay where he was, lest I be 
sought for and found, for I was appointed to 
specific offices. 

At two o’clock I again went to the kitchen. 
Stifled groans, that amid the many, would 
not have reached my hearing, had I not been 
alert, came to* me. 

I carried fresh water, and asked if I might 
then call a surgeon. 

“No, pray do not. I thought I might ease 
the pain by a little noise — that is all.” There 
was something in the reticent bravery of this 
man that pleased me. I resolved to aid him. 
I verily believe that, had he been able to 
make his escape, and had sought my assist- 
ance, it would not, could not have been with- 
held. If he chose thus to battle with pain in 
dark silence, rather than to lose his hand or 
foot, why not? The man was evidently in 
his right mind, and entirely conscious of the 
risk he ran in so doing. 

Could I not find some one who would be 
willing to sit by him, and now and then touch 
his lips with a cooling drink? The hospital 
37 


SHAWNIE WADE 


nurses were not numerous, and each had the 
work of many to do. It was quite evident 
that not one of them could be spared. 

As I studied the situation for relief, there 
grew in my mind the rememberance of the 
group of refugees I had seen at the camp dur- 
ing the day. More than any, the figure, that 
had covered its face with the scanty apron, 
presented itself to my mind. This man was 
from the South. From the force of habit the 
colored people would care for him I believed, 
and so sent a messenger to a trusty friend in 
camp. 

I had not more than an hour to wait, when 
the boy returned, and with him came the lit- 
tle figure. I had directed that she should be 
left in the passage often referred to, and 
there I met her. 

The light was insufficient to give me her 
face clearly, and, although I can now recol- 
lect being affected by it, as one is not at the 
face of a stranger, still it did not seem fa- 
miliar. My secrecy must have surprised her, 
for I immediately drew her into a dark room, 
and told her a confederate was suffering 
there, and the need there was for him to re- 
main unknown to the surgeon. “He is one of 

38 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


your climate,” I said, “and I thought you 
would best know what to do for him.” 

“Very well,” she replied. That voice ! 
Most certainly I had listened to it some- 
where ! The darkness did not hide its tones, 
as it did her features. 

“Who are you?” I questioned with vigor, 
for there was no time for going about the 
question, as I should have done at leisure. 

“What matter is it, who?” she said, “so 
long as I do what you ask!” 

“Very well, then,” and I whispered, lest 
the wounded man hear the words, “Don’t fall 
asleep, for fear the rats should get at his 
wounds.” 

“I will not sleep,” she said, and with the 
words, the girl or woman — I had not decided 
which — sat down not far from the confeder- 
ate. She staid beside him until the morning, 
for he told me so, but then she went; and al- 
though I walked to camp in search of her, 
she was not to be found during the ensuing 
day. 

Susannah said, in answer to my inquiries, 
that she would go and do the duty the girl 
had escaped from. To her care, I consigned 
39 


SHAWNIE WADE 


my confederate. Most wonderful in their 
effects were the cooling drinks the woman 
made. At evening time, when I looked in, 
I felt that all immediate danger was past, 
and it was not a difficult task to win the con- 
sent of the man to be given over to the care 
of the army surgeons. I sought one and told 
him the story of my wickedness in saving a 
hand or a foot, and begged him not to ampu- 
tate either, even though the man’s life should 
be sacrificed, for the sin would rest on my 
head. 

The surgeon did not give the promise I 
would have exacted, but he attended the case 
without delay, approved the care it was re- 
ceiving, and permitted the patient to occupy 
the room in which he had been forgotten. 

It was near the morning-watch of the day 
following, when, in taking my way through 
the passage, I caught a glimpse of the girl 
I had been seeking. 

She had, without doubt, just come from 
the room where Susannah presided. I went 
in, but the old woman declared with em- 
phasis that “Susan” had not been heard from 
since the night she left the camp at my or- 
der; and the confederate assured me that 
40 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 

only Susannah had attended him since the sur- 
geon left. 

Were I not a most positive being, I should 
have put down the vision as a case of optical 
delusion, but 1 did not. I knew that I, Har- 
riet Lord, in the full possession of all my 
senses, had seen a person, resembling the girl 
whom Susannah called “Susan,” steal along 
the passage, with every appearance of having 
emerged from the room in question. How- 
ever, I concealed my opinions, and set my- 
self to do the work of a detective. At all 
hours I made errands in the direction of the 
kitchen, and even got out a pair of slippers 
to aid my enterprise. 

I cannot think how I could, by any possi- 
bility, have been so stupid as not to men- 
tion to the surgeon my wish to know who my 
confederate might be; it never came to my 
mind to do it, or that a simple inquiry would 
give me his name. At this late day I can ac- 
count for it in no other way, except that I be- 
lieved names would have no significance to 
me. 

One morning I was rewarded for my 
watchfulness by hearing old Susannah talk to 
her patient. 


41 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“Now, Massa,” she said, “you know it’s 
jest no kind o’ use at all, your tryin’ to git 
’way. You’d be took, quicker’n wink!” 

“I shall try it, Susannah, because I do not 
wish to be exchanged.” 

“Well, Massa Honor, you alluz was head- 
strong. You could do just as you’d a mind 
to with every single one on us, ’cept Miss 
Shawnie. Does you ’member that time when 
you said she shouldn’t ride White Bird, and 
she said she was goin’ to, and did?” 

“I remember it, Susannah. Do you know,” 
he went on, “that in some way it seems to 
me that Miss Shawnie left herself up there 
somewhere in the North. I haven’t found 
her yet, though I’ve tried all the ways I 
know !” 

“Shame!” almost cried the woman, with 
a sort of savage triumph in her voice. “You, 
to say that, Massa Honor, and she your wife 
these ten years!” 

“I tell you she isn’t the wife I wanted,” he 
said, driven on, as it were, to confidence with 
this woman. 

“Then, Massa, you shouldn’t never sent 
her way up there in the Norf. You’s the one 
to get trouble for it.” 

42 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


I did not learn the reply he made, for a 
footstep sounded down the passage, and I 
was forced to go on my way. I knew then 
that this man was Honor St. Honor, of whose 
existence Shawnie Wade had told me on the 
night in which she came to Miss Harris’s 
school. There could be no doubt of the fact 
that I was about to learn something new of 
my old friend. Here, fallen into my very 
hands, was the man she had so delighted to 
love. 

That day the patient was removed into a 
hospital ward, for rumors of war had come 
up to us, and the place was again put into 
waiting for wounded and dying. 

The refugees and freedmen had been sent 
Northward. Susannah, who seemed so will- 
ing to work and so serviceable, was retained, 
much to the sorrow of old Cris, who went 
lamenting from her, declaring that he would 
rather stay there, than go into the new land 
without his Susannah. The old man had be- 
come exceedingly childish since the disappear- 
ance of Susan. She seemed to be the bright 
spot in his heart, and her absence left a very 
great darkness. 


43 


SHAWNIE WADE 


The wounds of Honor St. Honor healed, 
after the balls were extracted, with remark- 
able rapidity, — but the chance for escape that 
had been his, was cut off, by his removal to 
the hospital ward. 

Susannah paid very little more attention 
to him than to the other patients, or possi- 
bly it was a plan of theirs to escape ob- 
servation, for my utmost watching failed to 
give any additional information. 

One night she was watching a patient who 
was ill and near to his death-hour. My own 
duty was scarcely a dozen feet distant, and 
I could readily give attention there and else- 
where. 

It was one of the nights in which one’s en- 
tire being seems filled with the fire of life; 
when humanity becomes as if phosphorescent, 
and eyes and ears are in connection with sight 
and sound, whether in air, earth or sea. 

It was near two o’clock when Susannah 
called me by the signal known to the nurses, 
and which meant to them that Death was 
near. 

I went to the cot where she had kept her 
watch, and found that I had been summoned 
44 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


too late; the young soldier was gone from 
this life. I called a surgeon, and after we 
had looked at the face, he was carried out 
so quietly that half the men in the ward knew 
not that a comrade had died that night. 

I was called away for a brief while, but 
upon my return, I encountered a figure I did 
not recognize as one of the nurses. The 
woman came from the direction of the cot of 
Honor St. Honor. She walked so swiftly 
down between the rows of beds that I met 
her close to the entrance. 

I was conscious of her wish to avoid me, 
and, with the flashing intelligence that played 
about me, I seized hold of her, as she drew 
near the entrance vestibule, into which I had 
retreated for that purpose. 

“Shawnie Wade!” I said, holding her by 
the arm. 

“Let me go!” said the woman; but I held 
by a firmer grasp, saying, “You know me, 
Harriet Lord! You have trusted me more 
than once ! Do so now, and I promise to aid 
you.” 

How the interview would have terminated 
had not a sudden interruption occurred, it is 
45 


SHAWNIE WADE 


impossible to tell. A tumult arose from the 
farther end of the building. Doors were 
hastily shut with sharp sounds; voices were 
heard in quick converse, and the echoes of 
feet moving with quickened steps came out 
to me. 

I held fast to my captive under a vague be- 
lief that the commotion had some reference to 
her presence. When she found that I would 
not let her go — that, if she would escape, it 
must be through me, a change came upon 
her. 

“You remember the night I went to that 
Northern school, you say?” she said. 

“Yes, as if it were the event of to-day.” 

“And you recollect my face as it was 
then?” 

“Perfectly!” 

She laughed, as if with preconception of 
the amazement that would be mine, when she 
should reveal her face. 

A lamp burned low in the place. With 
the old, impetuous movement, she darted to 
it, upturned the wick, and threw off her bon- 
net, a white sunbonnet, which she held half 
aloft, as if thus the color of her face might 
be the more effectually brought into contrast. 
4 6 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


“You call me ‘Shawnie Wade!’ ” she said. 
“Do you see now, that I am ‘Susan,’ an es- 
caped fugitive from Col. Wade’s plantation 
on the Mississippi?” 

The girl’s eyes shone on me with the same 
light that they had done when she had looked 
up from the carpet in Miss Harris’s reception 
room with the words : “Why didn’t you knock 
her down?” and it did not appear that she 
had the wish to conceal their light, or her 
own identity. It was as if I had suddenly 
gone back to that night, and the interval of 
school life, in which I had subsequently 
known her, were dropped. 

And yet she stood before me wearing the 
dress of a slave, having the complexion of a 
fair mulatto. Her hands were hard and 
brown through exposure and much labor; her 
figure was slightly bent; her whole appear- 
ance had suddenly assumed the air and mien 
of a slave. 

“Now, Missus, >vill you let me go?” she 
said. 

“No!” I cried. “You are not Susan! You 
are Shawnie Wade, the girl that was claimed 


47 


SHAWNIE WADE 


by Mr. Wade as his daughter, and I will not 
let you go !” 

At the instant there entered the place one 
of the attendants. 

“A patient, a confederate, has fled,” he 
said, not pausing in his haste. 

“Who is it?” I called after him, but he did 
not wait to give me reply. 

“I know who it is, Miss Lord, and now 
that he is gone, what do you think I care? 
It is Honor St. Honor. Do you remember 
the night I told you about him, and how my 
love for him was the strongest thing in all 
the world to hold by?” 

“Then you are Shawnie Wade?” 

“Of course I am Shawnie Wade, but who 
do you think you could get to believe it? Not 
a white man or woman in the South — least of 
all the man, for whom I am Susan, and for 
whose sake I am not myself.” 

“Am I crazy? I, Harriet Lord, or are 
you, that you stand here and tell me such im- 
possibilities — you girl with the dress of a 
slave, and the words of a free woman?” I 
asked, still holding by her dress, lest she 
should attempt an escape. 

48 


A HOSPITAL CAMP 


“Awhile ago you said you’d help me. I 
have always remembered you since that night. 
I will tell you the story, and then you will 
keep your promise.” I took her to the small 
compartment, a kind of closet, that I called 
my room. 


4 


49 








SHAWNIE’S STORY 






CHAPTER III 


Shawnie’s Story 

T HE little figure seated itself on my 
bed, and with her eyes bent into 
the face of the coming day, 
Shawnie folded her arms and 
told me this story. 

“My mother was from up among the high 
hills in Litchfield County, in Connecticut. We 
had been up there the day I went to New 
Haven, and saw you in that room of the 
boarding school. 

“Do you remember,” she asked, “how 
kind you were to feel sorry for me that night 
when you went up to the room with me?” 

“Yes, I remember all about it,” I replied, 
“and the long year that followed that night, 
and how queer we all thought you !” 

“Harriet Lord!” she said, grasping me 
with a sudden energy, and holding me fast 
both by the hands and the eyes. “You be- 
lieve there is a God, do you not?” 

“I do.” 


53 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“Well, then, as sure as He exists, and you 
believe in Him, I never saw you from the 
time you went out of that room that night 
until you came down to the camp that time, 
and found me, hiding my face from you !” 

“Shawnie Wade!” I exclaimed. 

“Just you keep quiet, and wait till I get 
through, and then you will believe that what 
I say is true,” and folding her small arms 
again in a kind of self-hugging way, she went 
on thus: 

“I was an only child, and I reckon all the 
wickedness of the family was put into me, 
for father could not make me mind, or do 
anything with me at home. 

“There was a pretty slave woman in the 
house. She took care of me at the same time 
she did her own child, and this child and I 
grew up, so much alike, that I know one day 
when there were some visitors at the house, a 
gentleman asked, ‘Mr. Wade, which one of 
your children is the elder, or are they twins ?’ 

“I could not think what should put my 
father into such a rage, for Susan and I had 
always played together, and she had even 
slept on the floor close by my bed. After 
54 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


that the gentleman who had made father so 
angry made ever so many excuses, and Susan 
was sent away from the house, with her 
mother, down to the negro quarters; but I 
used to steal down there every day to have 
one of our good old plays together, and 
father did not seem to care, so that she never 
came near the house, where company might 
see her. 

“About this time, Honor St. Honor came, 
first to make us a visit, and a little later to 
the next plantation to live. Then we used 
to see him every day, and finally I came to 
love him the way I told you. I remember 
every word I said, though it is so many years 
ago, for I never in my life have told anybody 
else about it. 

“One day Susan and I were down by a 
sugar-cane field. I knew I had no right to 
be there, and that if father knew it he would 
be very angry, but I had coaxed Susan’s 
mother to take me, by promising that she 
should have Susan with her all the long af- 
ternoon. I think I went because the field was 
next to St. Honor’s plantation. 

“He came out on the road, riding his beau- 

55 


SHAWNIE WADE 


tiful horse that day, and he looked almost 
handsome to me, as I half-way hid in the 
cane-brakes, dragging Susan after me, and 
trying my best to conceal her altogether, for 
up to that time, St. Honor had not, I thought, 
seen her, and I felt ashamed to have him 
know that my father owned a slave, who was 
so much like his own daughter. His keen 
eyes saw her, and in one minute he was from 
his horse to the ground. He came over the 
low fence, cracking his whip, and laughing 
in his light way. ‘There! now I’ve caught 
you,’ he said. ‘You are trying to run away, 
hiding in the brakes ! As I live, you, Miss 
Shawnie! Are you a slave, that you want to 
escape bondage? See here,’ he said, sud- 
denly seizing Susan by the right arm, and 
turning her about, so that he could look into 
her face, ‘I want to see you two together! 
Change your clothing, and I doubt if your 
own father could tell which was his 
daughter.’ He said the words with such 
cruel laughter ringing through them, that I 
was stung into sudden fury. 

“ ‘I’d rather be a slave, ten thousand 
times,’ I cried, ‘than to care for you !’ Then 

56 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


I looked up at Susan. Her face was white 
and her eyes seemed to light up, as if she was 
on fire, and her teeth were tight shut to- 
gether. While I looked, thinking she had 
surely been bitten by a snake or an alligator 
that had slimed down from the river bank, I 
heard her say, ‘You’ll live to repent your 
words, Sir!’ She didn’t say ‘Massa,’ as I had 
heard her before, but ‘Sir.’ 

“St. Honor rode away, laughing as he 
went, and as his horse leaped the low fence, 
he flung back the words ‘Tell the Colonel I’ll 
be up this evening on business.’ 

“I did not stop to answer, but ran on into 
the brakes, not caring where I went, or what 
became of me. Susan followed, calling to me 
to come out, to stop or I would get lost. 
Lost! when I heard that word, I went on 
faster than ever. I would get lost, and I 
did. It was two days before we were found. 
Then it was, that St. Honor advised father 
to send me to school. 

“In the fields, where we had nothing to eat 
but the sugar-cane, and we were tired of lis- 
tening for some one to come and find us, I 
made Susan tell me stories, all sorts of stories, 
57 


SHAWNIE WADE 


that the negroes had told her of white folks. 
Sometimes I thought she was making them 
up, but I didn’t care for that, until she told 
me one about a young man who was rich and 
handsome, and everything, and who had a 
cousin that loved him, only he didn’t love her 
any of the time, ’cause he loved a slave girl 
that her father owned. 

“I laid that story up to think about, and 
the more I thought of it, the more I be- 
lieved Susan had seen St. Honor before the 
meeting we had in the cane-field. 

“I forgot to tell you that Susan’s mother 
had gone down to a spring, where I had sent 
her to fetch some water, when I saw St. 
Honor coming, so that she knew nothing 
about the meeting, or what had become of 
us, for, when she came to the place with the 
water, we were gone. She stole home and 
waited until night for me to get back. Then, 
when Col. Wade came home, and with him 
two or three gentlemen, he did not ask for 
me, or miss me, until it was time for his 
guests to go to their rooms. 

“Papa” — how the woman’s voice softened 
as she uttered the word with loving accent 

58 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


— “used then to come into my room every 
night to kiss me, whether I were awake or 
asleep. He went in that night, and found 
a smooth pillow. Then the house was 
aroused. 

“Susan’s mother declared that she knew 
nothing about it — that I went to bed ‘just as 
usual,’ she believed. Poor thing ! She knew 
that the truth would cause her so much suf- 
fering, that she was afraid to tell it. 

“St. Honor did not go to see father that 
night, but father went down to his plantation 
and heard the story of my being with Susan 
in the sugar-cane field, and they two with 
many more went to search for us. 

“When father found us, he was so happy 
that he forgot to scold me, and I easily won 
him not to whip Susan, by telling him how 
she had taken care of me. 

“It was not long after this time that I 
have been telling you about, that I went down 
to the negro quarters one day to get Susan 
to help me about a thing I was trying to do. 
Susan was standing inside a cabin window all 
flushed and scarlet with vines, and outside, his 
arm lying along the edge of the. window, and 
59 


SHAWNIE WADE 

his hand pulling at the red leaves, stood St. 
Honor. 

“They did not see me, and I watched them 
a minute or two, until it seemed to me that 
the window was just a looking-glass, and my 
own face was reflected in it; there seemed so 
much of the same love in Susan’s, that was 
burning my life in my heart. O ! Harriet 
Lord. I dare say you think that the Devil 
dosen’t take possession of folks now, as he 
used to do, but I tell you he does ; he whirled 
me up into a high place, and claimed me. I 
did not care. It was good to be in his ser- 
vice, and I never resisted the thoughts he put 
into my heart. 

“I ran away. No one had seen me. I 
went home and found father busy with his 
overseer, but I did not care for half the 
world, so I went into the room — I remember 
I had overturned two or three chairs before 
I got near to father, but when I did, I cried 
out, ‘Sell Susan! I tell you to sell her now, 
to-day! I w T on’t have her on the plantation 
another night!’ 

“ ‘Shawnie, Tornado ! What storm is 
blowing now? What has Susan done?’ 

“I turned to Mr. Brown, the overseer. 
60 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


‘Don’t you know somebody who wants to buy 
the girl quick?’ 

“ ‘Yes, I do. I can sell her before night, 
if Col. Wade says so, to Mr. St. Honor.’ 

“I gave a shriek, and then a kind of red 
shame coming over me, I ran to the veranda, 
slipped through a window, and made my 
escape. 

“The same afternoon St. Honor came 
around. There was to be a picnic the next 
week, and he came to ask permission to take 
me, but, mind you, I did not go, for then it 
was, that father consulted with St. Honor, 
as to what should be done with me, and St. 
Honor said, ‘Send her to school! Two or 
three years at the North, will do more 
towards taming her, than we can in her life- 
time.’ 

“Father did not speak for a good bit of 
time, but then he said, ‘The advice is good. 
I’ll take it.’ 

“I did not stop to hear another word, for 
I had so many things to think about, and 
my plans to lay. I did love father then. I 
loved him next to St. Honor, and I believed 
I could coax him to let me stay at home, but 
6 1 


SHAWNIE WADE 


he was turned to rock. Then I turned from 
coaxing to make terms. If I must go to 
school, I would not go without Susan. I 
was not going to be left up there in the frigid 
zone without any home body to scold at, 
when I felt like it. 

“Father laughed, and said if Susan went 
North, she would be free, but he had made 
up his mind to sell her after I asked him to. 

“I made believe I was ill, went to bed, and 
refused to eat anything. Father rode about 
half the time for a week after new doctors; 
then told me I might take Susan North, if 
I would only get up and eat something. 

“Eat something! There was half a feast 
under my pillow then, that Susan’s mother 
had smuggled in to me. I got up and ate 
before his eyes. Father was happy, and we 
made ready. 

“You know the rest, perhaps,” she said, 
“and are tired listening. 

“No, I do not. Go on. 

“You know now, that I, Shawnie Wade, 
was introduced to Miss Harris’s school as I 
was, and that the next morning Susan, my 
father’s slave girl, went down to breakfast 
62 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


as his own daughter. I easily persuaded her 
into the plan. She had a desire to learn, was 
always coaxing me to teach her to read, which 
I did when she was only a little thing, and I 
told her if she kept still, and did not talk 
much, until she learned the language, she 
would do very well. More than all I warned 
her of the danger of saying anything about 
her home, for I knew she would betray every- 
thing then. 

“You can never know with what keen de- 
light I took Susan’s place. I had been fond 
of little plays all my life, and the morning 
after my arrival at school, it was nothing for 
me to steal out, just at dawn, and go to the 
hotel, where I knew father and Susan were 
staying, for he had promised not to go with- 
out seeing me. 

“I went up to Susan’s room, the clerk look- 
ing at me curiously as I passed by the office, 
and there I made known my plan. She was 
to change dresses with me, and I was to go 
back with her to the school so that she might 
make no awkward mistake. 

“When it was all made up between us, I 
went to father and made believe I was sorry 
for putting him to so much trouble about 
63 


SHAWNIE WADE 


Susan, for I had found out there was no place 
for her in the school, so I generously offered 
to stay alone, and let him take the girl back 
with him. 

“You ought to have seen Col. Wade then. 
He was beautiful as he caught me up and 
covered my face with kisses, told me what a 
brave, good darling I was, and made me 
promises of everything I wanted, if I would 
only try to learn, so that he could be proud 
of me. 

“What do you suppose learning and pride 
meant to me? Only dust and ashes before 
the altar I had made, on which I meant to 
bum myself for Honor St. Honor, the man 
I thought cared more for a slave girl than for 
me, his white cousin. 

“It was a kind of grave dressing that went 
on in Susan’s room the next half hour. I did 
not shrink from her clothes, as I ought to 
have done, because they seemed only a rude 
kind of conveyance in which I was traveling 
back home. 

“You saw Shawnie Wade the next morn- 
ing. You know how well the slave girl went 
through her education, while I, Col. Wade’s 
64 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


daughter, went down to the Mississippi plan- 
tation, as slave to its master. 

“The night I reached home, Col. Wade 
said to me, ‘Susan, you can stay at the house 
now, mind my rooms for me, and when I 
want you, you must always be ready; it seems 
half like having Shawnie near me, you have 
been so much with the girl.” 

“Of course, Mr. St. Honor, as I called 
him after that, came over to learn the success 
of the expedition, and I heard it all detailed 
from my lurking place. 

“The gentlemen had dinner together. Af- 
ter that, Col. Wade fell asleep. I had put 
on a new dress that Shawnie had given to 
Susan in New York. It was not exactly suit- 
ed to my position in slavery, but I knew 
that I looked well in it — so well that, 
with my slightly-darkened skin, I could read- 
ily deceive St. Honor, and I waited his com- 
ing. He picked up a book in the library, 
when he saw that Col. Wade had fallen 
asleep, and stepped through an open case- 
ment upon the piazza, where I sat sewing. 

“ ‘Susan,’ he said softly, as if afraid of 
waking the sleeper, ‘How do you ?’ 

65 


6 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“ ‘Very well, Master St. Honor,’ I replied. 

“ ‘You have put on airs since your trip to 
the north,’ he said, but they become you well. 
Tell me how you left Miss Shawnie. I want 
to know all about it, and the Colonel isn’t in 
a mood to talk the matter over. Tell me 
how it is that you are here, instead of staying 
with her. 

“ ‘She sent me back — did not need me up 
there, where everybody knows so much that 
they takes care of themselves.’ 

“ ‘I am glad you came back, Susan. I 
missed you,’ he said. 

“ ‘What did you miss in me?’ I questioned 
— for an instant taking up my identity, and 
gasping for the truth, even though it might 
kill me, body and spirit. 

“For reply, and surprising me into horror, 
the man stooped and kissed me; then walked 
away, without speaking, to the most remote 
point on the verandah, where he seated him- 
self and opened his book. 

“What would not I, Shawnie Wade, have 
given for the kiss this man had bestowed 
upon the slave, Susan. You don’t believe me, 
Harriet Lord, when I tell you, that, despite 
66 


SHAWN IE’S STORY 


this thing that happened, at which you will 
tell me that my love should have died and 
gone down to decent burial, I but loved St. 
Honor better, for after all was it not my 
cheek which had felt the kiss of his lips ! 

“I cannot tell you how swiftly passed those 
days and weeks and months. I liked being a 
slave in that household. Susannah alone knew 
my secret, and she devoted herself to me with 
ten-fold power under the knowledge that her 
child was safe and free. 

“There came into the neighborhood a poor 
white family. The women in it were skilled 
in certain sorts of labor, which brought them 
often to the place, and I soon discovered that 
they were educated, or I thought so, and my 
mind began to crave knowledge. I wanted 
to surprise St. Honor and Col. Wade from 
day to day, so I spent all the time I could 
spare with the poor whites, learning from 
them whatever they could teach me. 

“One day — I recollect it well — Col. Wade 
was away, and St. Honor had come in and 
said that he would wait for him. He laid 
himself down in the library and told me to sit 
by the window where he could see me work. 
He pretended to read, but when I saw that 


SHAWNIE WADE 


he did not, I carelessly walked across to the 
sofa and took the book from his hand. 

“ ‘Don’t you wish, Susan,’ he said, ‘that 
that book could speak to you as it does to me ? 
Shall I teach you to read ? Why not, I should 
like to know ?’ 

“ ‘Do,’ I said, and he opened the book 
and began, duly instructing me in A B C. I 
went through his lesson with docility. He 
commended me and said that if diligent, I 
would soon be able to read for myself. 

“ ‘I would rather read for you than for 
myself,’ I said. ‘What is the book? O, yes, 
I see, it is ‘Festus,’ and I opened it and read 
out the angel story told to Festus, of the tem- 
ple built by the angels for the worship of men 
and angels. 

“You ought to have seen St. Honor then — 
the look of astonishment, melting into ad- 
miration, as I went on to the end. Then I 
dropped the book as if it had stung me, and 
darted back to my chair, for, standing full 
in the door, was Col. Wade. 

“ ‘I say, Colonel, get the girl to read for 
you. Where she learned is more than I can 
tell,’ said St. Honor. 


68 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


“I was gone when he ceased to speak. 

“That same evening I was sent down to 
‘the quarters’ on an errand, and coming up 
from thence, bearing a burden in my hands, 
I met St. Honor. It was just by an orange 
thicket. He made me put down my burden; 
then, taking both my hands in his, he kissed 
my forehead, saying in quick low tones, 
‘Susan, would to God that you were not a 
slaves — that you could change places with my 
cousin Shawnie. I am going away for a long 
absence. Remember me until my return.’ 

“There was little said of his absence, but 
Col. Wade missed him woefully; and more 
and more he called upon me to amuse him. 
My ability to read worked wonders for me, 
for he caused me to read aloud by the hour 
from books that I should never have taken 
from their shelves. 

“Suddenly a change came over the house- 
hold. One and another of the old slaves 
were summoned from their quarters and we 
saw them no more. Once I ventured to ask 
Col. Wade why they went, and he told me 
his expenses were heavy, that it cost a large 
sum to educate Miss Shawnie at that North- 
69 


SHAWNIE WADE 


ern school ; besides Mr. St. Honor was not in 
the country, and there was no one else to give 
him aid. He did not want to go outside of 
his own family to ask for it. 

“My conscience seemed to stir a bit and 
wake up just then, for I wrote a letter to Col. 
Wade’s daughter and told her what was 
going on at the plantation, and begged her 
to be as careful about spending money as she 
could be, for there was no telling but her own 
mother, Susannah, might be the next to go. 
After that, it seemed as if she spent more 
than ever, the letters asking for money came 
so often and the sums were larger than ever 
too. 

“I longed so to have St. Honor come home. 

“He came during the time Col. Wade was 
gone North to fetch Miss Shawnie home. His 
own house was not in readiness to receive 
him, and he came to Col. Wade’s. 

“Then there came to me the happy days 
that I suppose everybody has sometime in 
life. It was all delicious, mad gladness from 
morning until night. I surprised St. Honor 
every hour with some new thing that I had 
learned in his absence. I read to him in the 
70 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


dim half-light of the long summer afternoons 
out in the orange grove. The air was odor- 
ous of what seemed Heaven to me then, and 
down through fruit and blossoms came bits 
of blue out of the sky, that made me wish to 
die then and there. 

“You remember what I told you of my 
love for St. Honor the night I reached Miss 
Harris’s school. Then I did not know that 
he cared for me, but now, to know, to feel 
every moment that this man in his inmost 
heart was longing to break my chains and 
set me free! Freedom! What did it mean 
for me then, more than was poured down the 
places of my life by every loving glance from 
St. Honor’s eyes — by every word that parted 
his lips ! The time was short — and then they 
came home. 

“It was without note of warning, too, and 
such disappointment to Susannah, who had 
been in ecstacy of preparation for the young 
lady. Bonfires and all the accompaniments 
of the return were spoiled by the arrival of 
a carriage in the early twilight. 

“Such an evening as it was, and St. Honor 
had said we would spend it on the river. I 
7i 


SHAWNIE WADE 


stood out bright and brave to meet Shawnie 
Wade, as Susan, slave on the estate. 

“She had grown tall, much taller than I, 
in the years of her absence, and either by art 
or nature, she was fair in seeming. I see her 
now, as she alighted from the carriage that 
night, assisted by St. Honor, Col. Wade 
meanwhile giving orders about the trunks 
that were being taken down. 

“I stepped forward, as in duty bound, to 
take from her hand the cloak she held, but 
she withdrew it with quick gesture, and I 
heard her say to Col. Wade, ‘Is that girl on 
the plantation yet? It is time she was gone !’ 

“ ‘You ask me too much there, Shawnie. I 
could not spare Susan. She has been almost 
a daughter to me in your absence,’ I heard 
Col. Wade say, and then I turned away. No 
one noticed me, and I moved on until I 
reached the orange grove, where I had been 
so happy. I knew St. Honor would have no 
time for me that night, so I lay down, and 
from the reaction already commenced in my 
system, I fell asleep. It was full moon, and 
scarcely an hour risen, when I went out ; when 
I awoke, the rays fell down upon me through 
72 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 


the breaks of blue from the zenith. I sprang 
up, and struggled on slowly to the house, 
thinking if I could only get into my room, 
Susannah would take care of me. 

“It was midnight, I knew by the moon. A 
low half-light came from the parlor win- 
dows, and such music with it. 

“I stopped and stood still. I clasped my 
hands together. I shut my eyes, and let it 
thrill through and through me. The music 
was from the hands and voice of Miss Wade. 
She was singing for St. Honor, at midnight, 
on the first night of her arrival. 

“If this on the first night, what might not 
be hereafter? 

“A fury possessed me then. My pains 
were hushed. I parted the vines about a win- 
dow, near which they two were, and sprang 
into the room without any definite object, 
except to break up their meeting, but she 
turned around upon me, uttering a shriek that 
brought the household from their beds, and 
demanded of St. Honor that I should be 
taken away, where she need never put her 
eyes on me again. 


73 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“ ‘She tells you lies,’ I cried. ‘That is 
Susan, and I am Shawnie !’ 

“Then I felt strong arms around me, and 
I was borne away by Susannah to the room, 
where I lay, O, so many weeks, driven by 
fever through all its fantastic horrors, until 
I was again thrown upon the shores of rea- 
son, bruised and broken, but living still. 

“ ‘Susannah,’ I asked one evening, when I 
was in the newness of my recovery,’ has Mr. 
St. Honor been to see me since I lay here?’ 

“ ‘What made you ask, child? Massa St. 
Honor has gone away.’ 

“‘Gone again!’ I uttered, the room get- 
ting dark and darker, until there was only 
just light enough for me to hear her answer 
by. ‘Where?’ I asked. 

“ ‘He’s gone up to de Norf somewhere, 
child, and you musn’t talk ‘bout it.’ 

“Afterward, when I had come out of the 
darkness and weakness, I asked, ‘Susannah, 
who went with him?’ 

“ ‘Who should go, but his own lawful wife 
to be sure, Miss Shawnie, that corned home 
so bright and gay from de school ?’ 

“I turned away then and would speak to no 

74 


SHAWNIE’S STORY 

one for two days. During that time, I was 
deciding what I would do in the future. At 
one moment I was ready to send for Col. 
Wade and tell him the story, but I knew — for 
Susannah had told me — how my crying out 
that night had been taken for the wandering 
of fever, and any words of mine then, would 
be thought to be delirium still; at the next 
moment I resolved to wait, and let the years 
come and go. 

“An exultant cry broke from me one hour, 
as I saw the picture of the coming years, in 
my mind. My love for St. Honor went into 
an eclipse then, and I thought it had gone out 
forever, and that only hate and an avenging 
desire had taken its place. 


75 



MRS. ST. HONOR 





























































CHAPTER IV 


Mrs . St. Honor 

- ^ "W" GOT well with all speed. Col. 
• w ■ Wade seemed glad to get me 
back again to my duties, and I 
took care to perform them with 
great exactitude ; to make myself 
more than ever necessary to his life, in the 
fear that in some freak he might send me 
away, as I had seen so many go. The same 
fear made me keep my place with trembling, 
when St. Honor and his bride came back. 

“They did not seem fond of visiting at 
Col. Wade’s. Mrs. St. Honor rarely made 
any but formal visits at her father’s house, 
and St. Honor came no more to the old 
places; but at home, on his old plantation, it 
was very gay. They had many visitors up 
from New Orleans, and the places about 
there, and go where I would, every white 
man and every negro was talking about the 
great beauty and wonderful accomplishments 
of Mrs. St. Honor. 


79 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“I waited my time, still stealing every min- 
ute from my duties to study, to learn I cared 
little what, so it was knowledge that poured 
into my mind from day to day. 

“Mrs. St. Honor gave out-door parties, 
for wdiich she had fitted up a little temple, 
hung around with silken curtains, that flut- 
tered in the wind, and into which she had 
her piano taken; and there like a kind of 
priestess of music, she entranced the people 
who came to listen, until they were half ready 
to make a musical saint of her. She had 
such an air of command and such power of 
manner and speech that every slave was ready 
to fall down at her bidding. 

“One day Col. Wade told me he was go- 
ing away to be gone a few days. It had been 
raining for a week, and no washing had been 
done, so I made up a parcel and took it my- 
self to the poor whites, knowing that nobody 
on the plantation would think washing and 
ironing could be done in the same day. I 
was going back, and it was almost night — the 
nights come down quick in the South. There 
w r ere two or three fields to cross, and in one 
of them I met St. Honor. He was going the 
short way home from Col. Wades’s. 

80 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


“His head was bent down and he was 
whistling to himself. I thought maybe he 
would not see me if I went softly, and so I 
turned out of the path, along by a thicket, 
and made haste to get by. 

“I think now that he was looking for me, 
for he came straight across to where I was, 
and said ‘Susan, do you know what you said 
that night you were taken down by the fever? 
If I had only believed you then — for — Susan, 
I am very miserable now. No happiness in 
my heart, nor in my home.’ 

“I should have gloried in his wretched- 
ness a moment earlier, but the tones of his 
voice, so pathetic, so appealing, went right 
down to the soft place in my heart, that I 
thought had been grown up more than half a 
year. 

“ ‘Yes, I know what I said then. Would 
you believe it if I told you so now?’ I asked. 

“ ‘No, of course not, because it could not 
he true , only if I had believed you, it would 
have saved me all this misery.’ 

“ ‘Mister St. Honor,’ I said, ‘I am sorry 
for you,’ and then, just then, the old fury 
rushed back upon me and I cried out, ‘No! 
81 


6 


SHAWNIE WADE 


no! I am glad, glad, and more misery will 
come and eat out your life! It is only just 
begun to come upon you!’ 

“‘Poor Susan!’ he said, ‘your head will 
never be right again, I am afraid, and you 
were my best friend after all ! Would that 
the old days might come back!’ 

“ ‘What would you do then ?’ I questioned. 

“ ‘Just as I did! Just as I did!’ he uttered 
and turned away. 

“After that the years went and came. Col. 
Wade lost half his possessions, and the Wade 
and St. Honor plantations suffered greatly. 

“I had begun, a good while before the war, 
a record of my life, beginning as far back as 
I could remember, putting down carefully the 
smallest detail of events connected with my 
mother, and in which my father took part, 
for I knew that sometime it would be neces- 
sary to prove myself to be Col. Wade’s 
daughter. 

“This transcript became a great recreation 
and pet performance of mine; the chief diffi- 
culty being to know where to hide it, for no 
place was absolutely my own. I grew to love 
it. The faded yellow paper on which it was 
82 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


written was bright and fair in my eyes, and 
every day I found some new place to deposit 
it. I had come at the beginning of the war, 
in the story up to the time when my cousin St. 
Honor advised my father to take me to a 
school in the North. One night I went out 
to a deep well that was seldom in use for 
house purposes. I knew that, not far down, 
there was a crevice in the stones, where my 
treasure would be safe for many a day; so I 
wrapped it up as carefully as I could, first in 
paper and then in a bit of oiled silk, and, as I 
told you, I went to the well, crawled down, 
and put my history safe in the place, and was 
coming out — my head being just above the 
surface of the opening — when, whom should 
I encounter but Col. Wade. I came near 
dropping back and falling down the well, so 
great was my astonishment and fright, but 
he seemed to take the affair very calmly, for 
he said, ‘Susan, what does this mean? Are 
you cleaning this old well?’ 

“ ‘No, Master,’ said I, ‘but you know it 
gets very hot in these days, and I like to go 
down now and then to get cool.’ 

“ ‘That is all, is it? Well, I advise you 

S3 


SHAWNIE WADE 


that there will be warmer days around here 
before April is over, and that you keep out 
of dangerous places, or even I cannot save 
you. See here, girl ! I have trusted you, and 
now in return, do not betray me, or you may 
fall into harder hands than mine.’ 

“ ‘Master Wade,’ I said, ‘I will never be- 
tray you, never so long as I live, and my visit 
to the well did not mean anything that can 
possibly hurt you.’ 

“I thought he believed me, but I kept 
watch, and that night I saw Col. Wade, St. 
Honor, and two or three other men go out 
after midnight with lights to the well, and 
examine it carefully, as though firearms or 
ammunition might be stored in it. I trembled 
in fear lest my treasure should be discovered, 
and it was many days before I got a chance to 
go and learn if it was still safe. 

“The times went on, as you know, worse 
and worse. The blacks were feared and dis- 
trusted by their masters; and they in turn 
were misled, and believed all sorts of im- 
possible things about to happen to them; 
either they were all to be free, or else to be 
sold to go further South, where, they seemed 
to think, freedom would be a longer time in 

84 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


reaching them. The negroes no longer liked 
me, because I would have nothing to do with 
them; and Col. Wade distrusted me, because 
I was his slave ; so that for a while no one on 
the plantation was so friendless and alone as 
I, but I endured it bravely, knowing that my 
hour would come. 

“There did arise an insurrection in the 
region, and news of it reached me. I did not 
wait to learn the details, but went to Col. 
Wade and begged him to forgive some slaves, 
who had been consigned to severe punish- 
ment, and also to give promised freedom to 
two or three of his old slaves, who had long 
been expecting it. 

“He did as I asked, and on his plantation 
peace was bought for the time. After it was 
all over, I told him the dangers he had es- 
caped, little thinking that my information 
would work out my own freedom, but it did, 
and that before many days. I have yet to 
learn how it came about. All that I can tell 
with certainty is that not a week had passed 
by before Col. Wade came to me and said, 
‘Susan, you are as free to come and go as my 
own daughter. From this hour you are no 
longer my slave.’ 


85 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“ ‘Why do you not thank me?’ he asked, 
as I stood still, not looking up, not expressing 
the gratitude he had a right to expect. 

“ ‘Because I do not thank you,’ I said quite 
fearlessly, ‘I cannot!’ 

“ ‘Girl,’ he turned upon me savagely, rude- 
ly, for the first time in his life; he clutched 
my arm fiercely as he uttered the words, ‘Do 
you scorn freedom at my hands?’ 

“ ‘I can neither accept freedom at your 
hands, Col. Wade, nor as the gift of any 
man,’ I ejaculated, something within me ris- 
ing up in red rebellion at the idea of emanci- 
pation. It seemed more humiliating than 
any lot that had fallen upon me as a volun- 
tary slave. I suppose my eyes changed then, 
as I feel that they do sometimes change ; it is 
as if other eyes were given me for the time. 
I know that I looked up bravely in his face, 
and that from his superior height he towered 
down upon me for a minute or two in utter 
silence. A certain dimness swept his vision 
then ; he released the arm he had held in such 
vise-like grasp, and turned away without 
speaking. 

“All my life long I have been tormented 

86 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


with minutes of weakness, when I am sorry 
f or all my sins and long to get back into the 
region where I can kneel down and say ‘Now 
I lay me’ again, and wonder if the rustle of 
my mother’s silk dress could be heard up in 
Heaven, when I laid my head on it. Such a 
moment came over me then, and I sprang 
forward to the door, toward which Col. 
Wade was walking. I shut it and leaned my- 
self up against it, and said ‘Father!’ 

“Col Wade turned white as the roses on 
the vine near by. He looked as if about to 
fall, but I went on with my impulse, and said, 
‘Father ! do you not hear me call you ! Don’t 
you know your own Shawnie! Haven’t you 
known me in all these years?’ 

“I held out my arms toward him. ‘Father ! 
won’t you love and kiss me as you used to 
do before you sent me away to that wretched 
North? Didn’t you know that your Shawnie 
couldn’t, wouldn’t stay there? Say, father, 
can’t you see how like my mother I am?’ I 
pleaded, pouring out my words impetuously, 
and before he had found time to recover him- 
self, I asked ‘Do you ask your child to take 


87 


SHAWNIE WADE 


her freedom from slavery, father — the child 
of Shawnie Cliff?’ 

“‘Shawnie! Susan! child! slave!’ he ut- 
tered. ‘Tell me what all this sense and non- 
sense means ! I feel as if the world had been 
stricken with an earthquake.’ 

“ ‘What it means !’ I cried. ‘Ask Susan- 
nah ! No, she will not tell you the truth, for 
her child is Mrs. St. Honor!’ and I laughed 
then, a wild, mocking laugh, for all the im- 
pulse after goodness and rightness of life had 
passed by, and I was again driven by the gale 
of wickedness. I suppose the demon showed 
in my face then, for Col. Wade went out, 
locking me in the room. 

“Presently he returned, and with him was 
Susannah, who came shivering, as if about 
to be sold to go South. 

“ ‘Go in, Susannah,’ he said; and following 
her, again the door was locked and we three 
in the room. 

“ ‘Susannah !’ said Col. Wade, ‘tell me, 
and tell me truly, the history of this girl from 
the moment you first saw her!’ 

“‘Indeed! Massa Wade, you knows the 
girl just well as I do ! Hasn’t she alluz been 
brought up on the plantation?’ 

88 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


“The old woman seemed ready to die from 
the trial into which she had been cast. She 
shook like one in an ague. ‘Tell him,’ I said, 
‘and mind, Susannah, tell him the truth !’ but 
not one bit of information would the woman 
give. She kept repeating that Col. Wade 
knew all about Susan that she could tell him. 

“ ‘Am I Susan?’ I asked, a sort of reck- 
lessness taking the place of all my years of 
prudence and forethought; born, I think, of 
the fact that I had just learned, namely, that 
St. Honor had been compelled to join the 
confederate service. 

“ ‘Who else could you be, and be Susan- 
nah’s daughter, as the Massa knows you are ?’ 
she said. ‘Indeed, Massa Wade, I knows 
nothing more ’bout it anyways at all — not 
if you sells me, I don’t.’ 

“ ‘Susannah, do you ever expect to be a 
free woman?’ he asked. 

“ ‘If the Lord on High pleases, Sir, but I 
done give up runnin’ ’way long time ’go.’ 

“ ‘I am very glad to hear that , but if you 
ever expect freedom in this world, tell me 
whether this girl is your child, or the baby I 
put in your arms one day and bade you guard 

89 


SHAWNIE WADE 


with your life! Tell me truly, or you will 
never live to see the day of freedom.’ 

“She did not answer, but stood there quiv- 
ering, with her teeth chattering. 

“ ‘Father,’ I said, ‘don’t try Susannah any 
more. Let her go free.’ Susannah went. ‘I 
will prove myself to you,’ I said, when she 
was gone. ‘I will give you my history, from 
the first moment I can remember, until the 
time you sent me away from you to school, 
and all this trouble began. You will know 
then — but I meant to keep the secret for a 
good while yet. Your Shawnie is but a sorry 
blunderer after all,’ and I tried to get back 
into my old manner of speech to him, that 
the labor of proving myself might be less. 

“ ‘Whoever you are’ Col. Wade ex- 
claimed, ‘tell me at once, and in few words, 
what this mystery means, or I shall grow 
crazy!’ 

“ ‘It is just this, father,’ I said, ‘I was 
hurt at your sending me from home, and very 
angry — so angry, that it put my heart all 
wrong at St. Honor advising you to do it, 
so I planned to change places with Susan. 
We were so much alike, that it was not hard 
90 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


to accomplish, and Susan — she is half-white, 
you know, was as anxious to remain at school, 
as I was to return home — ’ 

“My story was suddenly interrupted by a 
sharp report, as of a firearm, and a ball 
whizzed past my ears and struck the glass 
covering of an engraving hanging on the wall 
opposite. From that minute, the place was 
in a terror of confusion. Col. Wade ran out to 
learn what had caused the shot, and he was 
no sooner gone from the room by one door, 
than Susannah entered by another. 

“I shall never forget the figure or the face 
that confronted me as the negro woman ad- 
vanced, nor the words that seemed to run 
like fire from her black lips : 

“ ‘Shawnie Wade!’ she said, ‘You are the 
daughter of Col. Wade. He is the father of 
Susan ! Ruin her, and you ruin your own 
blood! Beware! Your course will end in 
woe, if you dare tell the story you just 
promised.’ 

“I felt prickly then, Harriet Lord, for I 
had never before heard the negro use the 
language of white folks, and for the first time 
in my life, I knew I was in personal danger. 
I trembled as if guilty, in the presence of this 
91 


SHAWNIE WADE 


woman of Africa; but I said, ‘You know, Sus- 
annah, it is the truth that Mrs. St. Honor has 
no right to the place she holds !’ 

“ ‘Let her stay in it till she dies!’ she ut- 
tered, and in a moment more she was gone. 
Col. Wade did not make his appearance 
again that night. 

“I hid away in my little room, and fasten- 
ing the door, waited beside a window for 
whatever the night might bring forth. I ex- 
pected every possible horrid thing to happen 
that ever had happened on any plantation in 
the country. Negroes were stealthily step- 
ping to and fro; all the men and women be- 
longing to Col. Wade seemed to me to be 
about the house. I saw black faces go up to the 
windows of the room the ball had penetrated 
and peer in, as if a death had taken place 
there. What surprised me more than any- 
thing was the fact that no one of the faces, 
as I watched, gave the faintest token of sat- 
isfaction as each looked in. I heard a clock 
strike out the hours until midnight, yet Col. 
Wade had not returned. 

“It was his habit to absent himself without 
word of explanation, therefore at any other 
92 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


time I should have given little anxiety to the 
fact; but on that night I became nervous and 
irritable, so that a slight movement outside 
my door made me start nervously and cry 
out, ‘Who is there?’ 

“ ‘It’s only me ! Let me in, and I’ll give 
you some thin’ good and warm,’ was the re- 
ply in the voice of Susannah. I was minded 
to refuse her admittance, but old habits are 
strong, and I had been so used to the ser- 
vices of this woman, given much in secret for 
years, that after a time I opened the door. 

“ ‘I knew ye was watchin,’ she said, ‘but 
if ye’ll be good to my Susan, I’ll be just as 
good to ye as an angel, long’s I last. Now 
promise me, won’t ye?’ she begged, dropping 
down on her knees with an adroit motion, 
and holding out to me, with both hands, a 
tempting little repast she had come to feast 
my appetite with. 

“ ‘What do you care for Susan?’ I asked. 
‘Would she acknowledge you for her mother, 
do you think? Does she give you anything 
out of her wealth, to make you comfortable ?’ 

“ ‘Never mind, honey, what does old Su- 
sannah care for them foolish things, but she 
93 


SHAWNIE WADE 


never could forget to remember that Misses 
St. Honor is Col. Wade’s own chile, too; and 
now I’ll jes tell you a thing ’bout that gun, 
’while back. I’s so feared ye’d go tell dat 
whole story ’bout the schoolin’ and all, dat I 
jes let it go off to scare a bit, never meanin’ to 
do 1 the least mite o’ harm to nobody.’ 

“You did!’ I exclaimed, rising up from the 
window, ‘Then all the trouble this night is 
just because of you! What do you suppose 
will be punishment enough for you this 
time?’ 

“ ‘Go tell, if you dare,’ she cried, spring- 
ing up from the position she had taken on her 
knees, and assuming again the manner of a 
dark priestess at some avenging altar, the 
woman poured forth a torrent of words that 
were only half intelligible to me, but still I 
gleaned from them that some fearful work 
was about to be executed in the region, and 
that it could be prevented by my giving my 
word of promise not to betray Mrs. St. 
Honor, or to assert myself as Col. Wade’s 
daughter. 

“When Susannah had exhausted herself, 
she asked, ‘Will you promise and save all 
94 


MRS. ST. HONOR 


dem good folks, or will you look on at de 
fires and de killin’ ?’ 

“During her talk I had been gradually 
nearing the door by which I had let the 
woman in, so that when she summed the mat- 
ter in the final question, I was close beside it. 
I have always been remarkably swift in my 
movements, I believe, and before there was 
time enough for my answer to be spoken, I 
had withdrawn the key, shut Susannah into 
the room, and locked the door from the out- 
side. Then I ran down. The house was 
dark and still. Outside, a band of negroes 
seemed to be keeping a kind of watch about 
the place. I went up to them quite fearlessly. 

“ ‘Is Col. Wade come home?’ I questioned, 
and received the news I already knew regard- 
ing him. I sent for the overseer, who was 
acting physician on the premises, to come up 
at once to Susannah, telling the blacks that 
she had fallen into a fit. I omitted to mention 
that it was a fit of rage, my object being to 
gain a little time. They were no sooner gone 
— they went together in a band, as if afraid 
to separate — than I took my way toward the 
open road, darting behind shrub or bush at 
95 


SHAWNIE WADE 


the slightest sound, as if I were guilty of 
some crime that feared detection. 


96 


A PRISONER 









CHAPTER V 
A Prisoner 


66 


T 


HE nearest town was M 


ten miles distant. St. Hon- 
or’s plantation lay in my 
way, but I did not turn to 
it, for he, I knew, was not 


there, and I had no mind to save Mrs. St. 
Honor, even had she been in danger, which I 
knew she was not. 

“I was strong, vigorous and armed with 
resolution, and although the road was in a 
terrible state from recent rains, I reached 
M before the day dawned. 

“I was pretty well known, even in M , 

as Col. Wade’s learned slave, therefore I 
found no difficulty in gaining a hearing for 
what I had to say. 

“There were so many stories afloat, the air 
was so filled with rumors, that the real and 
the purely imaginary became thoroughly 
mingled in those days, and mine was listened 
to with careful examination. 

“It all went well until the story was told, 
and the question put to me regarding my 


99 


SHAWNIE WADE 


motive in telling this thing, which would have 
resulted so well for my people. 

u ‘What had I to do with staying it?’ I 
was asked, and to the question I was able to 
give no satisfactory answer. To say that 
‘Col. Wade had always been so kind to me,’ 
was not enough to account for my betrayal of 
my race — hence, when I had told my story 
and was ready to leave, I found myself a 
prisoner; held, I suppose, as a sort of evi- 
dence against myself. 

“Day after day passed, and yet I was not 
put at liberty. What gave me more surprise 
than any other thing was the fact that no in- 
quiry seemed to be made for me by Col. 
Wade; and although I asked questions every 
time my silence was broken by living creature, 
I gained noi atom of information concerning 
the revolt or the world. 

“I cannot express to you the loneliness of 
those days without employment, shut up in a 
small room with little light. With my full 
health and restless nature I rebelled against 
it, but to no purpose. The only reply that 
came to my petition for liberty was that I 
ought to be thankful for safety. 

ioo 


A PRISONER 


“I had a pretty bit of jewelry that I had 
always kept about me — I scarcely had a mo- 
tive other than habit in doing so, although it 
was my mother’s ere it was mine. With this 
trinket, I obtained, after a month’s imprison- 
ment, writing paper, a pencil, and some books 
from a vain little girl, my jailer’s daughter, 
who fancied the pin. One who has not count- 
ed the hours go by, each one as aimless as 
the last, cannot comprehend the gladness with 
which I seized hold on something to do. 

“My first work was to write out to the 
minutest detail the part of my story relating 
to my trip North. If ever you should see it, 
Harriet Lord, you will find a description of 
yourself, even to the dress you wore, and the 
ribbon at your throat; for, in that prison life, 
it seemed as if all the past grew again as I 
wandered into it, and I could paint it just as 
it was. 

“They gave me food to eat and raiment 
to wear in the prison, but the clothes brought 
to me were not from my supply at Col. 
Wade’s. 

“At last the day came when I was told to 
go forth. I thought I was at liberty; so, care- 


IOI 


SHAWNIE WADE 


fully concealing my precious history, I start- 
ed, eager to walk once more a distance great- 
er than my few feet of space had permitted. 

“I was taken into a court room, and sooner 
than my eyes could contract to meet the full 
light of day, they encountered the African 
woman, Susannah. 

“There was a crowd of eager, anxious, 
white faces, and there were a few blacks, 
looking as if the time of their happiness was 
forever gone. There was a judge, and a jury, 
and lawyers in abundance. 

“I had little time to wonder what had 
caused my appearance there, for I was imme- 
diately summoned to give testimony regard- 
ing a fearful insurrection that had taken 
place on Col. Wade’s and others’ plantations. 
I looked about the court room for Col. Wade, 
but he was not there. I was told to stand up 
and hold up my right hand, which I did 
readily enough, but, when bidden to promise 
to tell all I knew about the matter, I put it 
down, refusing to tell anything. 

“Poor old Susannah! She looked so ut- 
terly miserable ; and when I refused, her face 
lit up so that my heart turned towards her. 
102 


A PRISONER 


Just then, while the mood was on me, I 
would have gone any length to serve the 
woman, who all her life long had been doing 
me thousands of little services in secret. Not 
a burden had I borne, that this dusky woman 
had not stolen up to me afterward to wash 
the dust from off my feet. Every hour since 
Susan went North had given in its evidence 
for her unselfish kindness to me; then how 
could I stand up before these persons, and 
speak words which would condemn her to 
death, while I knew in my own mind that she 
would not hurt a fly, except to save her own 
daughter. 

“She had heard of this insurrection and 
promised to stay it, if I would pledge myself 
to keep silence. I had run away and given in- 
formation, at the same time carefully con- 
cealing my motive in doing so ; but now, after 
this long silence, Col. Wade had shown no 
desire to learn the truth of what I had told 
him that night. He had not even sent to me 
in prison, and my heart turned bitter in me 
toward him, and tender toward his slave, Su- 
sannah. 

“I was commanded to tell what I knew, 
103 


SHAWNIE WADE 


but I opened not my mouth. I was taken 
out of the witness box, and talked to in pri- 
vate by the lawyers, was promised safety and 
all sorts of protection if I would only tell 
what I knew. 

“At last I said I would not open my mouth 
against any man, white or black, not if they 
killed me. This I said as a witness, and a 
voice in the room cried out, ‘As I live that 
was Col. Wade speaking then !’ 

“‘You mistake!’ I said, ‘it was Col. 
Wade’s daughter!’ 

“At that a great shout of derision filled 
the court-room, in the midst of which Su- 
sannah’s shriek was almost drowned, but it 
came up to my ears, and filled them with 
secret accusation. I repeated my words in- 
stantly, but I needed not to do it, for no one 
believed them. They passed like water down 
sands, and — I was returned to the jail. 

“My second going into it was pleasanter 
than the first; for, absurd as it may seem to 
you, I felt a little of the glory of the martyr 
on my head, and it served to light the dark- 
ness of my cell for nearly an hour. After that 
came my enemy, lashing me up to all the 
104 


A PRISONER 


wicked, furious thoughts that haunt me so at 
times, and drive me into jungles of temper, 
such as good, quiet folks like you know 
nothing about. 


105 






THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 




■ 


























































CHAPTER VI 
The Search for St. Honor 

s- f-T I ^HE days passed on, and yet 
• ^ I no one came to me. Why 
did not Col. Wade look 
after me, for I was surely 
his property in some sense 
of the word? Why did not St. Honor come 
to make inquiry? were questions I asked 
often, but they were never answered. 

“One day I heard a great medley of 
sounds; cannon, bells, cries; and then, after a 
few hours, my prison door opened, and I 
found myself free. ‘Go !’ cried the man who 
opened it, ‘You are free, woman!’ 

“ ‘Who freed me?’ I asked, dazed by the 
sudden change. 

“ ‘The Yankees have taken the town,’ he 
said. I got up and went with little ceremony, 
but I did not get far before I was arrested 
and inquiries made concerning my errand. I 
really had none at the minute, but emergen- 
cies are sometimes nature’s great opportuni- 
ties, and one flashed into my mind. Where 
ought I to go but to my old home; so I said 
109 


SHAWNIE WADE 


I was going to Col. Wade’s plantation; and 
was permitted to take my way out from the 
town. 

“The walk was long — ten miles — after 
several month’s confinement from exercise, and 
it was deep into night when I reached the 
place. A dark, gloomy night it was; the air 
full of storm-quivers that made me quake as 
I drew near. Added to this came the bark- 
ing of the dogs. 

“I had not thought of them until I was 
near the house. The old dogs would know 
me, but what new ferocities might not have 
been added to the number since I went? I 
dared not run, for that, I knew, would bring 
certain death upon me. I stood still one 
moment, and as I think of it now, it seems as 
if I then called out to God to help me. Down 
they came, their wild, howling cries breaking 
the night into a chorus of horrors. 

“I was in the midst of the shrubbery. Gov- 
erned half by instinct and half by deadly fear, 
I fell to the ground, covering my face with 
my hands ; a vague feeling that it would be so 
dreadful to have St. Honor see me with my 


no 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 

face torn — I believe it was that made me do 
it. 

“Just as I fell, I gasped out ‘Thros! 
Thros!’ Thros was the most ferocious dog 
on the premises when I left the estate, and in 
secret I had made a friend of him. 

“St. Honor was Thros’s master, although 
the dog was owned by Col. Wade. It was 
for the love he bore to St. Honor that I pet- 
ted him, liking to stroke his head just where 
St. Honor had caressed him; liking to put 
my hand under the dog’s chin, and make him 
lift his great, solemn, fierce eyes to mine, that 
I might find in them the look of love I had 
witnessed poured into them from those other 
eyes, that could not give me caress or look, 
except through the agency of a dog. 

“I see you don’t laugh at me, Harriet 
Lord,” she said, “and you need not, for we 
women are very much alike, after all, just so 
soon as the scarf-skin of circumstance is re- 
moved ; and you know, in your own soul, that 
I could not unlove this man.” 

“About the dogs !” I gasped, not caring to 
discuss the question just then, though differ- 
ing widely in opinion. 

Ill 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“The dogs came down on me. I felt the 
leap, the hot breath; then after a moment in 
which I think I died, so dead was the time 
to me and so dead is it to me in the nonrecol- 
lection, I felt the lap of a great tongue on 
my hands, and the air was full of low mut- 
terings, as the pack was kept at bay. 

“‘Thros! dear Thros!’ I murmured, 
and the faithful creature made a noise, a 
sound that certainly was speech. It seemed 
to say ‘It is all right, dogs! Go about your 
own business now, and I’ll attend to this;’ for 
off the dogs trotted. No more howling, no 
more noise. Still Thros stood over me. 
When the others were gone, I dared to move, 
and the motion was met by a little low croon 
of delight that was the happiest sound that 
ever I had heard. 

“I got up.. We drew near the house. I 
feared no longer, for I was under guard. 
Lights were moving from window to win- 
dow. I heard certain doors as they were 
opened and shut. Then I was at the en- 
trance, Thros going steadily before and strik- 
ing with his paws on the panel, a trick St. 
Honor had taught him. 

1 1 2 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 


“I waited, knowing that in a few seconds 
I should gain entrance. The door was un- 
barred, and stood open before me. The light 
streamed out, and showed my face and figure 
to the stranger standing within the doorway. 

“ ‘Is Col. Wade at home?’ I questioned. 

“‘Col. Wade at home!’ he repeated. 
‘Who are you?’ 

“Then, if ever, my blood must have as- 
serted itself, for I verily believe that every 
globule of it stood out round and clear, and 
jangled in my veins. I burst past the man 
into the old, wide hall where I had walked 
my first steps, asserting myself as Col. 
Wade’s daughter. 

“The man spoke civilly then. ‘Where can 
you have been not to know what every child 
knows in the region?’ 

“ ‘Where is Col. Wade? I want to go to 
him,’ I questioned, impatient at his delay. 

“ ‘I do not know where he is, Miss Wade. 
This property is in the care of strangers. 
Will you be seated?’ 

“ ‘Where are the people? I want to see 
Susannah, or someone belonging here,’ I said. 

“The man told me that they were gone, all 
gone. Not one of the old souls left about 
113 


SHAWNIE WADE 


the premises. I stood there another min- 
ute, half in horror and half in stupor. I was 
hungry — hungry as the free air and long walk 
could make me. I espied through an open 
door a table spread with what to me seemed 
luxuries — I had lived so long on prison fare. 

“ ‘Will you give me something to eat/ I 
was forced to ask, for I felt that hunger was 
just then getting stronger than indignation 
or family pride. I am compelled to tell you 
that the man was civil; that he bade me take 
what I would. A loaf of white bread was in 
sight. I slipped by him, seized the whole 
loaf and then went out, followed by Thros. 

“In five minutes I had passed from the 
Wade estate. If Col. Wade was gone, I 
fancied that the household of St. Honor also 
was broken up. A half-hour brought me to 
the plantation, and the sun so near the hori- 
zon that I could see to walk by the light of 
the coming day. My loaf was half-con- 
sumed, I having broken it with my hands, and 
shared the crumbs with grand old Thros, who 
had followed me. 

“There was nothing in motion about the 
St. Honor homestead. It looked as though 
114 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 


one might lie down there and sleep undis- 
turbed for a thousand years. Such a vision 
of rest and quiet I had never witnessed. I 
watched the sun come up and throw all his 
gold down over it, but never sound of living 
thing — here, there nor anywhere. 

“Thros would not leave my side, except to 
go near the doors and smell ; then to run back 
and shake his head and lift his old, mournful, 
fierce eyes to my face, asking me why I sat 
there — a question that I asked myself soon 
after, for I began to fall under the spell of 
sleep. Presently, ere my eyes were quite 
closed, Thros gave a signal of victory. He 
had found a trail, and was pursuing it. 

“Thros was my only friend then; the only 
living link that I knew, binding me to my 
past life, and I could not afford to let him 
slip, so I followed on, having first knocked at 
each house-entrance, and gotten for my pains 
only echoes. 

“I called, but Thros did not come. I had 
seen him go past the negro quarters, so I felt 
that it was of no use for me to pause there. 
On I went in the direction the dog had taken 
when he first caught the trail. A fragment 
115 


SHAWNIE WADE 


of forest lay on the plantation ; tall old giants, 
that St. Honor used to tell me were his best 
friends, loomed in the form of trees, over a 
few acres of the estate. Into their gloom I 
fancied Thros had gone. I was right, for 
there I met the creature coming toward me, 
head lowered, eyes beseeching, and tail lying 
on the ground as he came. 

“I believed the dog was coaxing me not to 
punish him, but no such contemptible emo- 
tion had lowered his bearing, as was soon 
evident, for as I gave him a call he came to 
me, but refused to go on. 

“ ‘Come, Thros.’ I said, ‘we will go and 
find what all this means. Somebody must 
know something.’ It was such a good thing 
to have a dog even to speak to. 

“Thros would not follow. After repeated 
attempts, I went back to him and said ‘Poor 
Thros! tell me which way to go!’ You see 
how poor I was in resources to ask counsel 
of a dog, but he looked so sadly-wise that I 
could not help it. 

“He turned and started again for the 
forest. I followed him, half fearing, half 
glad of any guidance. From tree to tree he 
took his way to the deepest part of the glade, 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 


looking back continually to see if I were fol- 
lowing him. 

“The way became tangled by under- 
growth; the place had been seldom pene- 
trated, but I passed on. I had not far to go, 
for suddenly I found myself in the smallest 
of clearings, so small that there was scarce 
room enough for one to lie down in. On it 
Thros had stopped. 

“As I reached it, the dog lifted up his voice 
and uttered the most pitiful wailing. I push- 
ed him aside and knelt down to examine a 
small board. It was but a shingle that lay 
on the little clearing. Upon it were charac- 
ters, that a moment’s notice gave me the 
meaning of. Mrs. St. Honor was dead. 
This was her grave and that of her child. 

“The faithful blacks had hidden it, and 
marked the place with a rude inscription 
written with charcoal. The words were 
‘Missis St. Honor and the baby: dun nobody 
tuch.’ 

“I read them a dozen times aloud to Thros 
and the angels, if any were there; then I 
arose and shouted as though all the birds of 
all the forest had gone mad with merriment. 
117 


SHAWNIE WADE 


I believe I was mad then. I knelt down and 
kissed the old brown soil that covered her, 
but the shingle I dared not touch. The 
words were as potent as the curse the Play- 
master protects his grave with. 

“The story they told to me was plain 
enough. I needed to know nothing more. 
Mrs. St. Honor was dead! Safely dead! 
and not by any act or connivance of mine. 

“Why, Harriet Lord,” said she, clutching 
my arm until I was forced to cringe under 
the pain of it, “I never knew, until that 
moment, that a thought of murder toward 
the woman who had taken my lot out of life, 
had ever been in my mind; but that flash let 
on such a flood of light that I saw what I 
might have done; and gratitude is, I believe, 
what they call the feeling that came in and 
took possession of me. 

“Thros and I raced out of the woods like 
two merry children; he bounding with de- 
light, and I singing in my joy, as though the 
silver sounds of Mrs. St. Honor’s voice had 
fallen upon mine from the great white clouds 
over my head. 

“We went back past the negro quarters 

118 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 


and the house, because that way led to the 
highway. I stopped and looked the house 
over. Once I thought I heard a sound from 
it. I was passing on when the sound repeated 
itself. 

“A little white flutter at a window high up 
under the point where the two sides of the 
roof met, made me keep watch for a moment, 
and then the flutter was gone, and in its place 
appeared a black face. It gave sign that I 
was to go to the rear. 

“I went and waited at the door. A voice 
— Susannah’s — whispered ‘Go down cellar, 
chile, and I’ll let ye up.’ 

“Down cellar I went and was admitted. I 
cannot begin to tell you how that black 
woman and I kissed each other; out of pure 
excitement at first, and then out of pure af- 
fection, for our lives had been entwined from 
the beginning. 

“I asked her why she had let me in, in 
such a queer way, and for answer she said, 
‘Ye see, chile, dis yer now is haunted house. 
Miss St. Honor, she dies, all ’lone — nobody 
but the folks here wid her, and den after dat 
dey all clairs right out — couldn’t but jest git 
119 


SHAWNIE WADE 


Uncle Jake to write a bit on de shingle, for 
fear de place ’ud git lost, down dare in de 
big woods. Den, when dey’d all gone, I jest 
sat here a waitin’. I knowd somebody ’ud 
come long dat ’ud want Susannah, so I jes 
haunts Masse St. Honor’s house, ups and 
downs, day out and night in, till I specs now 
none of ’em dare come nigh it.’ 

“Then Susannah fell on my neck in a great 
burst of weeping, and her honest heart poured 
its love about me. ‘Now my own child is 
gone,’ she said, ‘f’rever and f’rever, Ise nuffin 
to love but you.’ 

“Susannah took Thros and me to her 
haunt in the garret and treated us to all the 
goodies that she had stored up for herself. 
There I told to the woman my story, and got 
from her all the news that I could glean. She 
had not seen Col. Wade since the night of my 
departure from the house. 

“St. Honor had gone to the war in the 
same week. Of him she could tell me no 
more. She had left the Wade plantation — 
there being no one to hinder — and had staid 
by Mrs. St. Honor to the hour of her death. 
When she told me about that event, she ex- 
120 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 


claimed ‘It was good pay, pay enough to hear 
her calling me ‘mother’ at the very last, 
when all the big world was gone — clair away 
from the room she was dyin’ in.’ 

“After rest and refreshment, I was im- 
patient to be gone. Susannah would not let 
me go alone. She wanted me to array myself 
in the fine apparel of Mrs. St. Honor. To 
her it was gold and fine linen; to me it was 
the very garb of a slave. I would not put 
it on. All at once it came into my mind that 
I must prove myself to be Shawnie Wade, at 
some time. 

“To achieve that end, I wanted my parcel 
out of the old well on the Wade plantation. 
Night and secrecy were needful to gain it. 
I readily won Susannah to my plan. I said 
that I could not go away until I had made a 
visit to my old home. I wanted to walk again 
over the familiar ground. I think she had 
a similar feeling, for she assented to my pro- 
posal to wait until evening and then go. 

“With Thros for our attendant, we set 
forth at the hour when we thought every one 
would be asleep. As we went I remember 
Susannah asked ‘Where are vou going?’ and 
that I answered, ‘Into the world.’ 

1 2 1 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“That night, I crept down into the old 
well, and found my treasure gone. 

“ ‘Pears to me,’ said Susannah, as I came 
up — I thought I had eluded her vigilance for 
the time — ‘Some folks is mighty fond uv old 
wells ! Now ’strue’s I live, the very las’ time 
Massr Honor was to the old place, I seen 
him with my own eyes cornin’ up out uv this 
very well, with a yellar bundle too !’ ” 

“She had unconsciously explained the mys- 
tery to me. 

“ ‘And what did he say after that?’ I asked 
her. 

“ ‘Why he never said nothin’ the next day 
to nobody, but goes right off, and said no- 
body needn’t never spect to see him come 
back alive, and Misses Honor, she say he 
never got a wink o’ sleep, but sat up all night 
a readin’ suthin, the night afore he went.’ 

“I knew that it must have been my history 
that he had read. Had its truth reached his 
heart, I wondered, as I went forth, deter- 
mined to see him, if he were yet alive. Do 
you think that I cared for armies or wars? 
They seemed childish trifles beside my indi- 
vidual enterprise. 

“I determined to retain my position as a 
122 


THE SEARCH FOR ST. HONOR 


slave, and we soon joined the little band that 
was pressing Northward. Poor old Chris!” 
said Shawnie, and for an instant seemed to 
forget her story. 

She did not seem to hear my question re- 
garding her father. She was listening, as 
at the call of some unseen visitant. She 
smiled suddenly, saying. “The St. Honor 
mansion is not haunted now; it never will be 
again !” 

She started from the place where she had 
been sitting, and exclaimed, “I hear! I hear 
Thros! He is telling me that he has found 
him ! Let me go !” she cried, for I had seized 
her, anxious to know more; longing to help 
her if I could. 

She pulled from me with sudden effort, 
and was gone before I had time to think what 
I ought to do. I did not even make an at- 
tempt to follow the figure, as it sped away 
toward the camp, followed by Thros. 

A week later, our camp was a hundred 
miles away. Our hands were heavy with toil, 
and our hearts so torn with the sorrows of a 
great defeat, that Shawnie Wade’s trouble 
fell from my thoughts. 

* * * * * 


123 



















\ 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 







CHAPTER VII 


Who is Shawnie Wade f 

I N the hill-country of Massachusetts, I, 
Harriet Lord, teach school to-day. 
My life, so full of grave prose, heavy 
and dull to the souls about, is yet, to 
me, the sweetest life in all the earth. 

It was set astir to-night by a bit a bright- 
eyed boy brought up from the post office in 
the village below. A small envelope — a few 
words — yet they have set my heart athrill 
with delicious emotions. The note is re- 
written here. 

“Harriet Lord: — 

Do you remember Shawnie Wade? She is 
dead, with all her old meanness, misery and 
wretched pretences. In her name, I bid you 
to visit me. Come soon. Come to stay. Say 
when, and you shall be met at New Orleans by 
Shawnie St. Honor.” 

How well I remember the faded story 
127 


SHAWNIE WADE 


written above. I wrote it out and sent it 
off with anxiety, hoping some publisher 
would accept it, and that from its sale, I 
should gain the money necessary to make the 
trip, towards which I looked with keen en- 
thusiasm. 

How curiously the letters, received in re- 
ply to the manuscript, look to-day. I am 
tempted to insert two or three — but resist the 
temptation. 

From an unexpected source money came 
to me, and I went to New Orleans. The in- 
terest, the anxiety, the fore-feel of that meet- 
ing with Shawnie St. Honor can never be for- 
gotten. 

I kept asking myself “How will she look? 
In what guise will she come to me for the 
third time?” 

For answer, no sooner had I arrived at the 
place of meeting, than there came the swift 
rushing of a little figure, a sudden clasp of 
her powerful little arms, and a rapid enuncia- 
tion of the words, “Now, Harriet Lord, you 
see me myself! No, I mean you will help 
me to be; for do you know the wise men of 
Orleans are trying me, to know whether I 
was, or am the veritable maid, or not? 

128 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 


“Dear me ! if they should burn me as a 
witch or a heretic, I should wish I had not 
been proved!” 

Then the arms unclasped themselves, and 
Honor St. Honor gave me welcome. 

“Only to think, Miss Lord,” he said, “what 
might have been, had you not helped me that 
night. I might have crossed this platform to 
meet you on crutches, if at all.” 

“Oh! don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t bring up 
the pictures of that time ! I keep them for 
dark nights when the winds blow and the 
clouds shudder.” 

“We never have such times down here,” 
said Shawnie, “we have nothing worse to fear 
that that the Mississippi will cover our break- 
fast table some fine morning.” 

“The Father of Waters has great respect 
for Yankees,” said Mr. St. Honor. “Come!” 

We went, but instead of being whirled 
away through miles of country as I expected, 
we were driven to the St. Charles hotel. 

“You are not going home, to-night?” I 
questioned Shawnie, as we arrived. 

“Oh, no ! And not for a week perhaps. 
It is just as I told you. I am on trial and I 
want you for a witness.” 

129 


SHAWNIE WADE 


“On trial for what?” I asked, having 
failed to get the import of her first words at 
our meeting. 

“To find out who- I am. Col. Wade’s heirs 
are after his money. Do you know, Harriet 
Lord?” she exclaimed, “For sometimes I be- 
gin to doubt. As I have sat in court, and 
heard dozens of persons, sane and righteous 
without doubt, testify that my name is Susan 
Carr; and that it is not, or was not rather, 
Shawnie Wade, a curious emotion has crept 
through me. I can’t explain it, and Honor 
will not let me try. I wish he would, for if 
once tracked out, it might explain itself. 

“Can you imagine that you are two per- 
sons? I mean that you have two separate 
lives? Here you are, all day Harriet Lord. 
At night you lay yourself down, Harriet 
Lord still, but who are you until you wake 
up again? 

“That other life that you live sleeping? 
The things that you do in it; the efforts that 
you make ; the sense that sometimes your feel- 
ings feel very bad then. You know all that, 
don’t you?” 


130 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 


I assented, wondering what the quaint lit- 
tle woman would say next. 

“Well then, that sensation of double exist- 
ence comes near to what I feel. You know 
I’ve lived Shawnie, and I’ve lived Susan, and 
dearest and best of all, Harriet Lord, I am 
living Shawnie again; so you cannot wonder 
that a haze comes over me sometimes. It 
does not last — it only comes and I am in a 
fog. So I want you to stand and toll away 
while in court, like a true fog signal, and 
presently the fog will lift and I shall know 
just where I am.” 

“Dear child! Let me kiss you again, as I 
did on the night I saw you first,” I said, “only 
I don’t think you’ll pity me nearly so much 
now as you did then !” and I kissed the brown 
cheek two or three times. 

“I do pity you a thousand times as much 
as I did — a thousand million billionaries 
more ! Why, just think what you miss in 
not having Honor!” 

She laughed then, a little, quick tremor of 
laughter, before I had time to say anything, 
and exclaimed, “No, I do not mean in not 
having my husband! I only just wish that 

131 


SHAWNIE WADE 


you had the same kind of love put into some- 
body else for you.” 

“And so do I, if it is true,” exclaimed Mr. 
St. Honor at the door. 

Then we three sat down to ask and answer 
questions till it should be time to go to dinner. 

The following morning I was summoned 
to give testimony in the great case. It does 
not appear on the records of the court under 
the names I here use. 

I testified most emphatically that the pres- 
ent Mrs. St. Honor was the Shawnie Wade 
that Col. Wade introduced into Miss Harris’s 
school as his daughter; and I gave a detailed 
statement of the girl who remained during 
that year as Shawnie. Then came the story 
told to me by Shawnie herself in the second 
year of the war, long before there was a rod 
of land dependent upon her identity; and 
either my Yankee straightforwardness or 
some other influence worked w r ell for the case. 

For the first time, a perplexed look came 
into the faces of the men in power. Evi- 
dently the strange recital had moved them to 
wonder, although the motive was wanting 
that could have induced Col. Wade’s only 
daughter to personate a slave. 

13 2 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 

The last question asked by the opposing 
counsel; the last answer given; and we went 
home to the old plantation, that I had so 
often pictured in my imagination. 

Shawnie’s feet were the first to touch the 
wide veranda. “Come !” she cried, “these 
are the steps; this is the veranda; yonder is 
the door; and — here we are — in the very hall, 
out of which I once ran starving, with a big 
loaf in my hand — and — and — and,” but the 
words were drowned, smothered, extinguished 
somewhere in the folds or arms of a fat black 
woman, who met Shawnie at that moment. 
When the little head came to the surface 
again, the sentence went on “and — here is 
Susannah !” 

“Don’t! don’t child!” said Mr. St. Honor, 
“it isn’t becoming to behave so!” 

“Do you want me to be becoming, Sir? 
Would you like me prim and proper? Do 
you always wish to know exactly what I am 
going to do before I act, and say before I 
speak? Couldn’t tell you, Sir, until I know 
myself! Couldn’t possibly! Didn’t know 
I was — going to kiss you — until I did it! 
There!” 


133 


SHAWNIE WADE 


Mr. St. Honor lifted himself up from 
Shawnie’s caress, and the light that came 
from his deep eyes rested lovingly on the little 
figure, in an instant half-way up the wide old 
stair-case. 

Shawnie had summoned me to follow her, 
and I was on the stairs, when she suddenly 
turned and ran down again. 

“Suppose, Honor,” she cried, “just sup- 
pose for a minute that they prove that I never 
was Shawnie Wade; and then, that years and 
years after, for no one knows that papa is 
dead, he should come back and the old place 
be gone — strangers here — and a big, new 
house with no old love in its beams, and 
no memories in its clapboards — standing in 
its place. But then,” she added softly, “papa 
didn’t believe me that last night, and maybe 
he wouldn’t now! Oh! it is dreadful, too 
dreadful ! to get mixed up in such a wrong 
and a lie ! Where did it all begin, and shall 
we ever get out of it?” 

Shawnie was crying on her husband’s 
shoulder. He picked her up in his arms and 
carried her up the stairway out of sight. 

“Don’t, darling,” I heard him say. “Great 
134 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 


wrongs will come right sometime , if we try 
our best to overcome them with good.” 

Susannah appeared and conducted me to 
my room. “I’s right glad you’ve come,” she 
said, “for Miss Shawnie’s gittin’ too much 
trouble now. I jes wish Messr Wade hadn’t 
gone done died, I do.” 

“But tell me, Susannah, I don’t know yet 
about it.” 

“Nor don’t we ! Folks says he was on dat 
air vessel dat went down in the ocean, tryin’ 
to get away, an dat’s all!” 

As Susannah finished the sentence, she shut 
the door, and I was left in one of the quiet 
chambers of the old Wade mansion. 

I had not long to stay alone however, for 
Shawnie entered, a grieved look on her queer 
face. 

“You mustn’t mind my going down into 
tears so suddenly! I couldn’t help it, indeed 
I couldn’t,” she said. “It was this thought 
that made me cry, and it’s just awful! Sup- 
pose they should prove that I am Susan Carr 
— a court of law, you know, establish that 
point — and who is it that Honor St. Honor 
married? There is no such marriage on rec- 
135 


SHAWNIE WADE 


ord as that of Susan Carr with him; and 
then, maybe, they will try to prove that I am 
not his wife after all!” 

Shawnie had left the door ajar, and had 
spoken with her usual carelessness of effect, 
so that Mr. St. Honor had heard her last 
words. 

A merry laugh came breezily into the room 
from without, followed by the question, 
“May I come in?” 

“Yes, listener!” said Shawnie. 

He entered, and said, “Mrs. Shawnie, do 
not let such idle thoughts into your mind to 
distract it. In the first place you are not 
‘proved’ yet, and even if you were, all that 
might be necessary would be a change of 
name, or at most, a repetition of the marriage 
ceremony. Beside, with all the witnesses on 
the other side to prove your father’s death, I 
cannot feel convinced that there is not some 
fraud.” 

“Wouldn’t it be delicious to lead him into 
court though, alive and well!” exclaimed 
Shawnie, with all the old gleam in her eyes, 
and sparkle in her tones. “Wouldn’t the case 
be decided quick!” 

136 


WHO is SHAWNIE WADE? 


Time stole by, leaving a sweet conscious- 
ness of happy moments, until the next session 
of the court. Then we went down to New 
Orleans, to see, as we trusted, the last of the 
troublesome case. 

The arguments on either side were long 
and able. The weight of evidence was on 
that of the plantiff; but I could see that the 
sympathies of all, or nearly all, were with 
Shawnie. 

A great and solemn hush fell on those in 
the court-room when the verdict was given. 
It was against my little friend. Never shall 
I forget how the hand of Shawnie clenched 
mine, nor the look of untold agony that cov- 
ered her sweet face as she looked up into the 
face of St. Honor. 

It was not for house, nor lands, nor home, 
nor love that that look pleaded. 

The journey back to the old plantation was 
dismal as journey could be; rain fell and the 
wind blew. For the first time, Shawnie, or 
Susan — as the court had named this woman 
— refused St. Honor’s care and comforting. 
She turned her head away from him, and 
rested it on me for hours, as we passed on- 
ward. 


137 


SHAWNIE WADE 


We drew near home. “We are almost 
there,” said St. Honor. Shawnie gathered 
herself up out of the corner of the carriage, 
and just as she did so, a light gleamed sud- 
denly up from the road-side, and shone on 
her face. 

“They do not know the verdict, or they 
would not light my way back,” she said; and 
then, turning to me, she asked, “Did you 
know that I invited you to my marriage, 
when I sent up to Massachusetts for you? 
Wedding, I shall not have” — then, with one 
of the transitions of which her nature seemed 
full, she turned to St. Honor, saying, “But, 
Saintie, won’t you be a big — something with 
two wives? You married Shawnie Wade in 
one year, and before the year is done, you 
marry Susan ! What a mist it is, all around ! 
I wish something would happen to wake us 
all up out of this horrid dream, don’t you?” 

“Something has happened,” said Mr. St. 
Honor. “Look at the house, Shawnie ! 
Look, Miss Lord ! Is it burning, or what 
is it?” 

The place was blazing with light. Shaw- 
nie screamed, — she shouted — she would have 
138 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 


leaped out of the carriage had we not held 
her fast. 

Susannah stood out to meet us. “I know 
it! I know it! cried Shawnie. I know papa 
is come! Where is he?” 

“Here I am, my child! my Shawnie!” and 
I saw Col. Wade catch his daughter up to 
his great heart, precisely as I had seen him 
take that other Shawnie, at Miss Harris’s 
school. After a while he let her go, and gave 
to St. Honor and to me a greeting. 

“I have heard it all — the whole story — 
and whatever the verdict is, it will be no ver- 
dict, for there can be no case now,” said Col. 
Wade. 

“Maybe they will try to prove you, papa, 
the times are very queer. Is it really and 
truly you? Why didn’t you come and get 
me out of that horrid jail? I thought you 
would!” 

For answer, Col. Wade wiped his face two 
or three times, despite which I saw the tears 
trickling down his cheeks. 

It was many days ere we learned much of 
the story of his disappearance. Fie could not 
account for himself for weeks and months, 
139 


SHAWNIE WADE 


during which time, it was believed, that he 
had wandered far — being driven by trouble, 
the war, Shawnie’s story, and the threatened 
insurrection among his own people, into a 
condition of insanity. He was found, in the 
garb of a begger, in a foreign city, and re- 
turned to his own land, where, upon his ar- 
rival, he became unable to identify himself, 
and was sent to an institution for the insane, 
from whence he had now come forth recov- 
ered. 

It was a curious story, from which many 
chapters were missing, and the thread of 
which it was almost impossible to track 
through the few years of his absence. 

One thing was certain. He was alive, and 
at home again. 

A happier household than that in the old 
homestead of the Wades that night could 
not have been found in all the land. 

“Oh! Harriet Lord!” said Shawnie, steal- 
ing into my room at midnight, “Harriet, I 
am going to say ‘Now I lay me’ to-night with 
all my heart. I never have quite before. If 
I do, do you believe God will ever get us out 
of this sin? I’m so tired of it!” 

140 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 


I comforted her with what comfort I 
might, and she went. In the hall, I heard 
Susannah speaking to her. The only words 
that came in to me were from the woman. 
They were these: “Miss Shawnie, honey! 
You’s sure you forgive me afore I go?” 

In the morning, Susannah was found dead. 
Shawnie wept over her until we were com- 
pelled to take her away. Col. Wade stood a 
long time looking at the still face of the wo- 
man who had once been his slave; then 
turned and walked away. Hours afterward 
he came up from that lonely grave in the for- 
est of the old St. Honor place. 

Shawnie knew where he had been. She 
came to me, urging, “Go, dear! go to him! 
go to papa. You won’t remind him of any- 
thing in the past. I am afraid he might get 
crazy again, and then what would become of 
us all?” 

I went down to meet Col. Wade and 
walked back with him to the house. As we 
reached the veranda, the moon came out 
from a cloud that had obscured its rising. 
It was a moon at its full. 

“How scarred it looks to-night. They tell 
141 


SHAWNIE WADE 


us,” he said, “that the scars are the craters of 
old volcanoes that are dead — burned out. Do 
you think, Miss Lord, that any sin ever dies? 
that it will ever burn out? or if it should, 
must we wear the rugged scars forever?” 

He seemed so much older and wiser and 
richer in experience than I, that I knew not 
with what words to answer him. 

Shawnie spent that night watching the still, 
black face of Susannah, and I staid beside 
her. 

The next day, a solemn little procession 
moved out from the house of Col. Wade, and 
took its way to the dim recess where St. 
Honor’s first wife had burial. The clear- 
ing had been enlarged, and in it a grave had 
been made for Susannah. 

* * * * * 

“I cannot let you go now, Harriet Lord — 
now when we are just beginning to be 
happy,” Shawnie said to me a few weeks 
later, when I began to think it time that I 
returned myself to the children, who had al- 
ready had a long vacation. 

I staid. One morning, a few months from 
that time, I went in to see Shawnie. 

142 


WHO IS SHAWNIE WADE? 


“I used to think,” said she, “in the old 
days, that I knew what love meant, but it was 
only last night that the Angel of Life taught 
me its meaning. Look there!” 

In his arms Col. Wade was holding his 
grandson. It was difficult to tell which 
looked the happiest — Col. Wade, St. Honor, 
or Shawnie. It certainly was not the baby, 
for it made the most dismal faces at the 
world into which it had come. 

“Only to think what might have been,” 
said Shawnie, “if that wretched law-suit had 
gone on.” 

“Only to think what may be,” said I. 
“Who can tell me that I shall not, some day, 
teach that boy in a Massachusetts school?” 

What came of it all, I, Harriet Lord, 
daughter of Massachusetts, forbear to tell. 


143 









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